The Supermen
by EvilToTheCore13
Summary: Post-RE5. Wesker drags himself out of the volcano, barely alive. He has not given up on his plan to take over the world and he is more determined than ever to get revenge on Chris. Then something even Wesker couldn't plan for happens, and he finds himself in the DC Universe. But Wesker is sure he can turn the situation to his advantage and conquer both worlds. Eventual MVC3 prequel
1. Undying

_**Author's note: this fanfic is based partly on a forum challenge which specified Wesker vs a Justice League consisting of Batman, Superman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Martian Manhunter, Zatanna and Hawkwoman. As a result, most other DC superheroes don't have major roles. There were no rules about what villains could appear, though, so any of them might turn up.**_

**Hall of Justice, Washington DC, New Earth [Interdimensional Universe Classification 4443]**

"It's been pretty quiet the past few days," Hal Jordan said. He'd just finished checking some recent reports of extraterrestrial activity. None of them had been real. Mostly planes, balloons, and clouds. There were a few objects that had been too vaguely described for him to identify, but they definitely weren't spacecraft.

Batman—Bruce? Hal had known Batman for two years now, but had never quite gotten into the habit of calling him Bruce—glared at him. "You should know not to say that by now."

Hal laughed. "What, are you superstitious? Saying it won't make anything happen."

**West Africa [Interdimensional Universe Classification 5245]**

Wesker ducked his head at the last second as the rockets flew towards him. He closed his eyes, but the flash of light as the rockets detonated still hurt. The shock wave hit him next, then the sound. Pain shot through him, more pain than he'd felt in over a decade, more pain than most people ever felt. Then nothing.

When he regained consciousness, a deafening screech was still reverberating in his ears. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for. Where was he? He tried to think, but his thoughts came too slowly.

He realised his eyes were still closed, and opened them gradually. He could see nothing but whiteness all around him. He blinked. Still whiteness. He shook his head—not one of his best ideas, as it made his brain feel as if it was crashing against his skull—but his vision didn't clear.

Despite being unable to see anything, he had the sensation that the world was spinning. Which of course it technically was, at about 1000 miles per hour, but he wasn't generally so aware of it. He had almost fallen unconscious again when he became aware of the burning across his whole body. The pain restored some measure of alertness.

He was in the volcano. He'd half sunk into the lava when the ground gave way. If it hadn't been for the Uroboros, he would have been dead. As it was, the lava had burned away the tentacles that had resulted from his mutation, but he was alive. With any luck, he might be capable of movement.

As he regained consciousness, the details of the situation came back to him. He'd fallen from the plane, been poisoned, stabbed, shot, and suffered third-degree burns at least from the lava, before he even included the injuries from the explosion. This day had not turned out nearly as well as he had hoped. And one person—one _human—_was responsible for this.

Chris. Chris had escaped in the helicopter. Chris had poisoned him, shot him, fired missiles at him, and survived, flown off to safety somewhere. Chris had destroyed everything he had worked on for the past ten years.

Wesker would find Chris. He'd track him down, and he wouldn't make the mistake of allowing him to live this time. He'd kill Chris, slowly, painfully. But to do that, he would have to find some way to avoid dying slowly and painfully here himself.

Wesker reached up and tried to grip the burning hot rocks above him. His movements were slow and weak, but he managed to get a handhold. He pulled himself up, ignoring the agonising pain as the skin on his hands burned away, and grabbed the rocks with his other hand. Slowly, he dragged himself out of the volcano, until he was sprawled on the ground above the crater.

He still couldn't see. How long was this going to last? If he'd just been blinded by the light from the explosion, his vision would probably recover within a few minutes, but if his eyes had been seriously damaged it could take several days, even with his enhanced rate of healing. Still, if he didn't get out of here now he'd be unlikely to live that long.

He needed a plan. He tried to think clearly, to assess his situation. The heat of the volcano seemed to have destroyed the Uroboros. His strength and speed were roughly at the levels they had been before he'd been exposed to it; or at least they would be, once he'd recovered from his injuries. The Prototype virus was clearly still effective, or he wouldn't have survived at all. The burns from the lava, however, were severe. He'd never had good luck with fire; he still remembered his battle against Alexia Ashford. He also hadn't fully healed from the PG67A/W overdose. His head hurt, breathing was difficult, and…

What was happening? He'd known where he was a few minutes ago, but now he struggled to remember. Several voices started repeating strange words that he couldn't understand. He didn't even recognise the language. They echoed, distorted, then became one voice. It sounded like Will. Will was dead, though, wasn't he? Wesker was almost sure he had heard something about Will being dead, but he couldn't remember when. Then Will was standing in front of him. Wesker could see him, somehow. But he'd been blinded by the explosion. He shouldn't have been seeing anything. Maybe his vision had healed, but it seemed unlikely since everything else was still white. Even Will was blurry.

Will hadn't stopped talking. Will never stopped talking. But Wesker still couldn't understand him.

"You're not making any sense, Will," Wesker said. The effort of speaking sent a sharp pain through his chest, and his throat felt like it had been burned.

Will was silent. That was strange.

"Will?"

Will disappeared.

Wesker tried to get his thoughts back on track. PG67A/W overdose. Painful. Hard to breathe. Not fully healed...and he was clearly having difficulty staying conscious, let alone focussing on anything important. _Of all the things to __see in a hallucination__, it had to be Will. He hadn't even told Wesker anything useful. What was the good of seeing dead people if they __couldn't __help you out?_

He needed to get back to the research facility. The plane had travelled maybe one hundred miles. Normally, he'd have been able to cover that distance in less than an hour. Now, he wasn't sure how he'd get there at all, unable to see and almost certainly concussed. Still, he had to try. The facility had medical equipment, including some substances which would work as an antidote to the PG67A/W poisoning; once that was treated, his other injuries would heal in about an hour, ignoring the unknown extent of the damage to his eyes. The facility also had the advantage of not being in the middle of a lava field.

After that, he'd need to get some weapons and some form of vehicle (there was a second bomber plane; with any luck he'd be able to take it), not to mention clothes.

Then he could fly the plane to another Tricell base. Probably one in Europe—the authorities were still looking for him in America. The biggest Tricell base in Europe was in Germany; that would probably be the best one to head to.

He struggled to his feet—his muscles felt weak and he found it hard to balance. He tried to take a step forwards, but collapsed. He wasn't going to be able to walk. Still, while he was blind it would probably be safer to crawl down the mountain anyway; it would allow him to feel where he was going.

He started to crawl. It felt painfully slow, although he knew he was still faster than even an uninjured human: probably around 5 miles per hour. For now, he could just head down the slope of the mountain; he hoped by the time he'd got down his eyes would have recovered enough to let him work out how to get back to the facility. He tried not to think about the time it would take him to get back. Unfortunately, he found he'd calculated it anyway. 20 hours, nearly a whole day, even if nothing went wrong and he went the right way the whole time. Still, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. He couldn't stay where he was.

Two hours later, Wesker stopped, gasping for breath. He was lying flat on his face at what seemed to be the bottom of the mountain. This was humiliating. A god should not have to crawl across the ground like an insect—and a blind insect at that.

He was tired. He'd forgotten what it was like to be tired. He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay here, which made no sense; the place was hardly worthy of a god...but he just wanted to stop...why were there black dots swirling around? Just when he'd somewhat adjusted to everything being white, it had to go and change... and there were more black dots… he reached up weakly and tried to brush them away but they stayed where they were…

What was he doing? He couldn't just lie here. He tried to focus on remembering the area around the lab. He knew it fairly well. If he'd been able to see, finding his way wouldn't have been a problem.

At least the ringing in his ears had died down now: he could hear normally again. In fact, he was starting to wonder if he could use that to his advantage, and try to navigate by sound somehow.

He struggled up onto his hands and knees, then raised one hand and snapped his fingers. He listened to the echoes, tried again. It took a while, but eventually he'd worked out quite a bit of information about his surroundings. As he had thought, he was at the bottom of the mountain. The area he was in was relatively flat. He thought there were marshes somewhere in front of him; the sound was different, softer than the echoes from the rocks.

If he headed through the marshes, he should get to the lab. The first 20 miles or so would be the most difficult. After that, for the next 50 miles, there was a narrow path. Then the marshes ended, and he'd just have to head through the oilfield for another few miles until he reached the caves.

A day later, Wesker dragged himself into the lab and collapsed unconscious.


	2. New World

**West Africa [Interdimensional Universe Classification 5245]**

Wesker opened his eyes slowly. Not that it did any good. All he could see was the same never-ending blankness as the day before. How long was this going to last? How long had it lasted, for that matter? He had no idea how long he had been unconscious for this time. It could have been anyway from an hour to a day, maybe more.

He tried to get up. If anything, the movement hurt more than ever. "I thought rest was meant to be good for you," he muttered, coughing as searing pain shot through his chest. To be fair, those colleagues who had expressed surprise—years ago now, back at Umbrella—at him working past ten o'clock at night had probably not been advising him to sleep on a laboratory floor.

He had collapsed before getting the antidote. _Great timing there, Wesker. _Thankfully, he had always kept it separate from all his other research, in a safe which only he knew about, so it wouldn't be difficult to find the right substance.

Wesker dragged himself across the floor until he felt a wall in front of him. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall for support, then felt for the hidden trigger used to access the safe. He entered the combination clumsily and took out the vial of antidote. His hands were shaking now and it was difficult not to drop the antidote as he prepared to inject it.

He forced the needle through his skin. Excella Gionne had always insisted on doing it for him, as if he were somehow incapable of it. The first time, she'd tried to be gentle, and had been unable to get the needle into him. Even after she'd realised she had to put a little more effort into it, it had taken practically all her feeble strength, yet she'd never agreed to just let him do it. She really had been one of the most insufferable people he'd ever had to deal with.

The antidote spread through his bloodstream, and the pain subsided a little. At least now he'd be able to stay conscious, to think more clearly, and eventually to heal.

Wesker took a cautious step forward, and found he could now walk without leaning against anything. Now to plan the rest of his escape. He knew his way around the facility well enough to navigate by touch; he'd be able to find weapons and the second bomber plane. The plane had an autopilot system far more advanced than any other in existence, so he wouldn't have to fly it blind. Just program the route in blind. _Yes, because that would be so much easier._

Back in his private quarters, he found some clothes—normal clothes, at least by his standards, not a combat uniform—and gritted his teeth knowing how much it would hurt to put them on over his burned skin. The instant the clothes touched him he gasped with pain as his skin scraped off, and even though he'd expected it part of him was amazed that just putting clothes on could hurt so much.

Once he'd got the shirt, trousers, coat and boots on, he considered leaving it at that, dreading even more pain, but he knew he had to appear as uninjured as possible, which meant hiding his hands. Any indication that he was weakened would just encourage his so-called "allies" at Tricell to take advantage of it and betray him. He took a deep breath, then pulled on a pair of gloves. The charred remains of the gloves he had been wearing were still stuck to his hands, and snagged as he put the second pair over them, tearing off more skin. Afterwards, he had to pause to get his breath back.

He also put on a spare pair of sunglasses: they wouldn't completely hide the burns on his face, but those were probably less severe since his face hadn't been submerged in the lava. By hiding where he was looking, the sunglasses would also make it less obvious that he was blind.

Next, he would need weapons. The custom Samurai Edge he'd used for the past 13 years had been lost when he fell from the plane, but he had a spare Beretta that was very similar. He put that in his holster and picked up an extra magazine as well, and a tactical knife. He put his phone and his wallet in his pocket. He also picked up enough PG67A/W to last a week. It would probably be best not to take any for a day or so, but after that he'd need it to keep his superhuman abilities.

Then he headed towards the hangar where the second bomber plane was kept. He did his best to program in the route, relying only on sound and on his memory of the layout of the buttons. When he'd finished, he stepped back and waited. The plane didn't explode. After a minute or so, he was fairly confident he hadn't somehow activated the self-destruct. Eventually, the plane took off.

Getting to the plane had been the easy part of the plan: taking control again once he reached the Tricell base would be much harder. And yet even getting to the plane had been one of the most difficult and painful experiences of his life. Wesker couldn't remember ever feeling this tired before. Since gaining his powers, he'd been able to go for months without needing sleep. Now, though, he could barely stand, or stay awake for even another second. He tried to focus on the next stages of his plan, but eventually gave up; he lay down on the floor of the plane, and fell asleep immediately.

**Hall of Justice, Washington DC [Interdimensional Universe Classification 4443]**

J'onn J'onnz landed outside the Hall of Justice, and sprinted inside.

"Clark. Something is wrong."

Clark Kent looked up from the book he was reading and looked at J'onn with concern. "Wrong in what way?"

"I am not sure. But I can hear an unusual number of panicked thoughts from people nearby. Whatever these people are seeing, they cannot describe it coherently, but it terrifies them. It seems to be something in the sky, but I was unable to get any clearer information."

"There have been more UFOs than usual reported recently," Clark said. "I hadn't thought much of it—none of the descriptions sounded like they could actually be alien spacecraft."

"I do not think they are," J'onn replied. "But whatever is happening, it is real, and dangerous. I am reading these people's minds—they are not making it up. This is important, I am certain of it."

**West Africa [Interdimensional Universe Classification 5245]**

An hour later, Wesker woke up. The plane was shaking. He opened his eyes, not really expecting to see anything.

Blurred shapes swam in front of him for a second, then slowed, and eventually stopped moving. He could see the vague outlines of the plane's cockpit—not well enough to read any of the displays, but at least he could see.

He stood up slowly. It didn't hurt. He stretched. Still didn't hurt. The plane was shaking so much it was difficult to keep his balance. He looked out of the window. His vision was still blurred, but there didn't seem to be any clouds, and the plane wasn't going over mountains. Strange that there would be this much turbulence.

Then he saw it. At first he thought his eyes were more badly damaged than he'd thought, or maybe he was still concussed from the missiles. He felt fine, but what he was seeing couldn't be real.

A twisted shape was swirling in the sky in front of the plane. He could only look at it out of the corner of his eye—every time he focussed directly on it, it changed shape in impossible ways, folding in on itself, or getting bigger and smaller at the same time. It defied all the laws of physics. He couldn't even tell what colour it was. Lovecraft would have been proud.

The plane was heading straight towards the shape, getting faster and faster. Wesker dived for the controls and tried to steer the plane away. It was no good: he still couldn't read the dials properly. All he could do was watch helplessly as the plane was pulled into the swirling shape. He'd never done anything helplessly before, and he certainly didn't like it now.

More impossible colours shot past the windows of the plane. He could no longer tell up from down or left from right. He had no idea how long the plane was flying—or was it falling, or even staying still while the world moved around it?-through this impossible place.

Then the plane was in the sky again, but no longer in Africa. It was flying above Washington DC, instantly recognisable even though Wesker hadn't been there in years.

This wasn't possible. It made no sense. Wesker was a scientist: he couldn't just accept that planes could fall through strangely-coloured holes in the sky and end up halfway across the world for no apparent reason. There had to be a logical explanation for this. According to some scientists, wormholes were theoretically possible, but the chances of a wormhole tunnel spontaneously appearing in the sky and joining West Africa with Washington DC would be minuscule.

Then again, many people would have thought the chances of someone dying and returning to life with the ability to dodge bullets were pretty small as well.

He'd have to consider the scientific implications of his situation another time. The plane had flown out of the wormhole—not a phrase he'd ever thought he'd need to use—at a dangerous angle. Now it was falling, plummeting towards the Potomac River.

He'd have to jump out. Landing safely without a parachute would be easy enough for him, but the vials of PG67A/W were less durable. All he could really do was keep them in his coat pockets and hope they didn't break. Worst case scenario, he'd have broken glass stuck in him, and no PG67A/W. _Not a great worst case scenario._

**_As before, thanks to The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84 for beta reading. Also thank you to everyone who favourited/followed the story, and especially to those who reviewed. Constructive criticism is always welcome._**


	3. Metahuman

Wesker leapt out of the plane. He landed in a crouching position, one hand on the ground. Cracks spread through the pavement from the impact, but the vials of PG67A/W remained unharmed. Behind him, the plane crashed into the river.

He looked up and realised he was in a crowded street in the middle of the city. He reached for his Beretta, prepared to shoot the witnesses. Yet no-one was staring at him in shock; no-one even seemed surprised. People had moved out of his way, but now they were walking past as if someone in a long black coat and sunglasses fell from the sky every day. Wesker put his gun back in its holster. A mass shooting would probably attract attention, even from these people.

Why were they so unconcerned? True, there'd been a few unusual events recently: T-Virus outbreaks, Majini...but people still didn't regularly fall out of the sky. Unless something else had happened while he was in Africa.

Wesker stood up and turned his phone on to look at the news. He needed to find out what was going on. But there was no signal. How could there be no signal in the middle of a major city?

He walked to the nearest newsstand.

"You all right?" the woman at the stand asked. "Looked like you fell pretty far."

That was not a normal person's reaction. Wesker frowned. "I'm fine. Although I can't seem to get a phone signal." He used an American accent: his usual accent would stand out too much, and he didn't want the woman to remember him should the police start looking for him.

"What company are you with?"

Wesker told her.

"Never heard of it."

"It's a major company."

"You should try Galaxy Communications," the woman said. She laughed. "They own this newspaper, so they want me to say that. Still, I've never had any problems with them."

Wesker had never heard of Galaxy Communications. Then again, he hadn't been to America for a while. He searched through the Nigerian, Ghanaian, British, Japanese and Russian currency in his wallet until he found a few dollars to pay for the newspaper.

By this point, Wesker's vision was just about clear enough to read, although it still wasn't easy. The date on the newspaper read March 9, 2009. So he'd only been unconscious for a few hours, half a day at most. The headlines, however, were far more surprising.

"Joker arrested." "Superman makes charity appearance in Washington DC." "Queen Industries releases new Q-Phone 4." Was this a joke?

He walked back to the newsstand. "Very funny. Am I to assume DC Comics are promoting a new film? Do you sell real newspapers?" Maybe that was why no-one had paid much attention to him: they'd assumed he was an actor in a superhero film. He had the good looks for it, after all. Although he'd have thought—or at least hoped—that even the average human wouldn't have been stupid enough to think the stunts in those films were real.

The woman stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Wesker held out the newspaper to her. "This. Headlines about Superman, the Joker, Green Arrow."

"Well, they're famous. You have to expect them to get some publicity. Also, I don't think Green Arrow's mentioned in this issue."

_You'd think DC could hire someone to promote their films who at least knew that Oliver Queen was Green Arrow. _Still, there were more pressing concerns. "I'm trying to find out what's really been happening recently."

"That is what's been happening recently," the woman said. "There haven't been any major world events."

Wesker decided to leave it at that. He got the feeling he wouldn't get much sense out of this person.

He left the newspaper on the newsstand and walked off down the street, hoping he could find out what was happening somewhere else. He knew his way around Washington DC, but the place looked different. The names of the shops had changed: he passed two branches of "Sundollars Coffee".

A "Fed-Lex" van drove down the road. That name sounded familiar. Wesker looked back at the van: beneath the "Fed-Lex" logo, a smaller logo said "Lexcorp." As in Lex Luthor's company? Why was everyone suddenly obsessed with DC Comics?

Despite Chris's accusations, Wesker didn't get his ideas from comic book villains. He just had a certain level of familiarity with the stories, enough to recognise some of the names. They couldn't have changed every shop name in Washington to promote a film. Impossible as it sounded, it was appearing more and more as if he had entered an alternate universe, the DC Comics universe to be precise. He'd always considered the idea of wormholes leading to alternate universes to be nothing more than pseudoscience. Then again, plenty of people had said the same about Umbrella's research into achieving immortality with the Prototype virus.

What mattered now was how to turn this situation to his advantage.

**Hall Of Justice**

Clark Kent felt the shockwave through the ground from across the city, although no-one else would have noticed it at all unless they were right next to its source. He activated his X-Ray vision immediately, just in time to see the man crouched on the pavement, no parachute in sight, cracks spreading out from where he'd landed. The plane crashed into the river soon after. Then the man got up and walked away, unharmed.

This could only mean one thing. A metahuman, and one who Clark didn't recognise, had entered the city. This man could be well-intentioned, maybe even a new ally, or he could be dangerous. The rest of the Justice League needed to know about this. Clark would tell them, and then go and investigate, maybe bringing Hal and Zatanna with him.

_**A/N: I am aware that the "C" in "DC" stands for "Comics", making "DC Comics" redundant. (I'm sure Wesker knows this too...) However, since a lot of this fic takes place in Washington DC, I will be saying "DC Comics" to avoid confusion between DC and DC (and D.C. Douglas?)  
**_

_**Also, any comments on Wesker's appearance in this fic are Wesker's own opinions.**_

_**With thanks to The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84, and to everyone who favourited and/or followed. Next chapter soon.**_


	4. Infiltration

**Washington DC**

As if to confirm Wesker's hypothesis that he was now in a universe where DC Comics characters were somehow real, the next thing he saw was Superman flying down and landing in front of him, followed by Green Lantern. Then there was a flash of light, and Zatanna appeared, apparently out of nowhere.

Superman was around Wesker's height, but considerably more muscular. If the comics were an accurate indicator of his abilities, he would be an extremely difficult opponent.

Green Lantern—Hal Jordan—would also be difficult to defeat, but not impossible. He didn't look as strong as Superman, but Wesker wasn't entirely sure of the extent of the Green Lantern ring's power.

Still, there was no reason why they should have to fight; not yet, anyway. None of these people would have heard of Wesker: he would probably not find it too difficult to gain their trust. He needed allies if he was to gain a position of power in this new world, and having the world's most powerful—and respected—"heroes" on his side would be advantageous.

Zatanna, meanwhile, used magic. Magic. Very few things made Wesker uncomfortable, but this was one of them. Wesker had entered a universe where people could use magic, where someone like Zatanna could say a few words backwards and teleport or even stop time. Aside from that, there were many people in this universe who had superhuman abilities greater than his own.

True, he had not succeeded by relying on his powers alone. Strategic and scientific knowledge were still among his greatest strengths, and could defeat even the strongest fighters. But magic? How did science even work when people could cast spells, in a world with angels and demons? And gods; there were beings in this world that called themselves gods, and were powerful enough that it was difficult to prove they were not. He wasn't sure what that meant for him.

For now, however, his priority was the Justice League. He could analyse the differences between this world and his own in more detail later.

Superman spoke first. "Welcome to Washington DC. We are the Justice League of America. We noticed your metahuman abilities when you..."—he paused, looking at the cracks in the pavement— "arrived."

Wesker quickly considered the best course of action. The name on his credit card was Karl E Webster, but he hadn't used it in this universe yet (he wasn't sure if it would even work here), so no-one had any record of him under any name. He might as well use his real name, and his natural accent. A lie was always more convincing if it was closer to the truth.

"My name is Albert Wesker," he said. No-one gave any sign of recognition—not that he had expected it, but it was quite a change from being an internationally wanted criminal. With no-one knowing who he was, taking control from the inside would be almost too easy. "I'm here to join the Justice League."

"All the members will have to vote on that," Superman replied. "And we'll need to know a bit more about you first. Your powers, your training...there'll be a few tests, and you'll need to meet all the members."

"Very well."

Zatanna spoke for the first time now. "tropeleT annataZ dna treblA rekseW ot eht gniteeM mooR fo eht llaH fo ecitsuJ!"

There was a flash of coloured light similar to what Wesker had seen around the wormhole. He found himself in a large room, which he assumed was in the Justice League's headquarters. The teleportation was a little disorienting, but he expected he'd get used to it soon enough—it seemed to be fairly commonplace for the Justice League.

Zatanna was standing facing him. "This is the main Meeting Room of the Hall of Justice," she said. "You won't be allowed to leave this room without one of us. If we decide you're not to be trusted, we don't want you knowing your way around our headquarters. That's why I teleported you in-so you wouldn't know how to get in here."

Superman and Green Lantern entered at that moment. Presumably they had flown in.

"The other members are on their way," Superman said.

"What about Wonder Woman and Hawkman?" Green Lantern said. "They're both still away on missions."

"Neither of them are expected back for a while," a deep voice said, seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone, even Superman, turned around, startled. A figure dressed in black loomed in the doorway. Batman. How had he entered without Wesker noticing? A mere human should not have been able to sneak up on him like that. Wesker would not allow it to happen again.

Batman continued speaking. "I think we should have the vote without them. We've done it before. Personally, I want to find out who this guy is and whose side he's on as soon as possible."

"Does this mean we're gonna have to have a vote on whether or not we're having a vote?" Green Lantern asked.

"We'll have seven members present," Superman said. "That's enough. Batman's right, with a new metahuman in the area we need to come to a decision quickly."

Wesker noticed they were all avoiding using each other's real names, with the exception of Zatanna. It made some sense that they wouldn't let him know their secret identities until he was an official member. Of course, he knew them all already, but he couldn't let them figure that out. Wesker had never expected knowledge of comic book characters to be this useful.

He wasn't so sure about the name "metahuman": he'd have preferred "posthuman" or "transhuman". He wasn't just better than humans, he was entirely different from them. Still, he should probably concentrate on infiltrating the Justice League before worrying about terminology.

The other members entered: Green Arrow, Martian Manhunter, and a red-haired woman wearing artificial wings who he assumed was Hawkwoman. He'd never even tried to keep track of those comics; he had better things to do, after all.

"Everyone, this is Albert Wesker," Superman said. "He wants to join the team."

Batman was eyeing Wesker warily. "Wesker," he said, "State your skills, training, and any superhuman abilities."

"I have enhanced strength, speed, agility, endurance, reflexes and durability, and accelerated healing. I also have extensive combat training, including judo, boxing, muay thai, both Brazilian and Japanese jiu-jitsu, kung fu and karate, and some experience with aikido, taekwondo, and krav maga, amongst many other forms of combat. I have also trained in parkour. I am an expert marksman and I have combat experience with many types of firearms. I have training in night-time combat, urban combat, and survival in any conditions. I am an expert in strategy and tactics and I have experience of leading troops in combat. I studied Engineering, specialising in Bioengineering, at the University of Cambridge, and later got a PhD in Biological Engineering from MIT. I also have experience of combat engineering including military demolitions and mine detection, and a reasonable level of medical knowledge, and I am skilled with computers and other technology. I speak French, Spanish, Japanese and German fluently, and Chinese and Russian fairly well, along with basic Swahili."

There was more he could have said, of course, but not without raising suspicion. In this universe, there was no record of his service as a Captain in the US Army Corps of Engineers, or of his time as Captain of STARS. Anyway, it was always useful to be underestimated. He paused, looking at the group, and raised an eyebrow. "Will that be sufficient?"

"Depends whether it's true," Batman said. "You could have made all that up. All we know at the moment is you can talk for a long time without breathing. That's not a useful superpower."

Batman thought _he_ could talk for a long time without breathing? He should have met Will. Wesker had always been the quiet one by comparison.

"I am willing to prove everything I said, if requested."

"You'll have to," Batman replied.

Wesker was confident he could pass any test the Justice League set him. His injuries from the battle two days ago, even the damage to his eyes, had fully healed. He was ready for some hand-to-hand-combat, maybe a marksmanship assessment or even some kind of obstacle course; something similar to his Army training.

Instead, Zatanna said something Wesker didn't catch, presumably a spell. The room appeared to dissolve, before disappearing.

Wesker found himself in a tiny, dark, concrete cell. He was handcuffed and chained to the wall. His weapons had been taken, as had his coat, his phone, and his wallet. This had to be some kind of illusion. Still, to pass the test he'd presumably have to behave as if it were real.

The door opened slowly. Three men with guns entered the cell. They all looked like trained soldiers, possibly even Special Forces of some kind, but they weren't in uniform, although they were wearing bulletproof vests.

Wesker waited. He could escape and attack them, and he'd almost certainly win, but it made more sense to find out what they wanted before deciding on a plan. He'd been trained in resisting interrogation and escaping capture during his training with the Umbrella Intelligence Bureau. He'd never needed to use the techniques he'd learned: in a way, he was even looking forward to trying them out. Wesker didn't think he had any real flaws, but he couldn't deny that he'd always liked to show off.

One of the three men, who appeared to be the leader, spoke. "Help us destroy the Justice League. Go back to them, gain their trust, and kill them all. Give us all their weapons, all their technology, the information from their databases. Or you will regret it."

Ordinarily, Wesker would have negotiated with these people. His usual strategy was to change allegiance whenever it benefited him. However, this was a Justice League test. If he was to be allowed to join, he would have to demonstrate apparent loyalty.

The soldiers would probably be quite surprised when he refused to give them what they wanted. After all, they thought they could kill him at any time. Wesker smirked. These men had no idea who they were dealing with.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to reject your offer." Now the only question was whether the soldiers would attempt to torture him for information, or just try to kill him.

The leader snarled and aimed his gun at Wesker's head. _Well, that answered _that _question._

Wesker tore himself free from the handcuffs and charged towards the men, who started shooting frantically. The cell was too small for Wesker to dodge the bullets. Instead, he ignored them, allowing them to bounce off him; it was a hindrance, but not enough to cause him pain. He punched the first man in the chest, sending him flying across the room, where he slammed into the concrete, unconscious or dead.

The second man was trying to reload. Wesker drove his knee into his face, crushing his skull. The final man turned and ran. Wesker leapt over his head to stand in front of him, then kicked him in the face, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the wall Wesker had previously been chained to.

Wesker took a handgun (SIG Sauer P226, not his preferred weapon, but one he was reasonably familiar with), a combat knife, and some ammunition from one of the men. He ran out of the cell, through the dark, winding corridors of the prison. He suspected the Justice League would want him to minimise killing if they were going to accept him as a member, so slaughtering all the guards probably wasn't a good idea. He hoped they hadn't expected him to spare the three men who'd been shooting at him earlier; only an idiot would have done that. Now, though, Wesker ran silently, avoiding guards, unheard and unseen. The three men hadn't had chance to tell anyone else that their prisoner had escaped. It could be hours before they noticed he was gone.

Finally, Wesker reached the main door. He didn't have lockpicks, so he kicked it open. Not very stealthy, but he'd be miles away before the guards could get to the door anyway.

He ran out of the prison, and into a wasteland, covered in foot-deep snow, with not even a tree in sight. It was night-time, and probably around -40 degrees Celsius, but even without his coat Wesker didn't feel cold. He decided to head south: the amount of snow suggested he was far more likely to be in or near the Arctic than the Antarctic, so heading south would be most likely to take him to the nearest town or city. Thankfully, it was a clear night, and the stars were visible, so it was easy enough to find his way. He kept running. The snow slowed him down a little, but he was still running at nearly 100 miles per hour. After a couple of hours, he saw a faint light in the distance, probably from a town.

He was heading towards the town when he saw a flare about 50 miles away. Normally, he'd have ignored it. What did it matter to him if someone was lost? But this flare was shaped like a green arrow. It was fairly obvious who sent _that._ The Justice League wouldn't want him to abandon one of his new colleagues. Wesker turned and ran towards the flare. Soon, he found footprints, and followed them.

He found Green Arrow-or a simulation of him, at any rate-lying semi-conscious on the snow. He had been shot in the shoulder, but was still breathing. Great. Now he'd have to deal with an injured mortal. This would slow him down.

Wesker applied pressure to the gunshot wound to stop the bleeding. He'd need to bandage it, and he certainly wasn't going to tear any fabric off his own clothes. Instead, he tore a piece off Green Arrow's hood.

Green Arrow mumbled something. Wesker could only make out the words "plane" and "city."

Wesker picked the human up. He'd almost certainly get blood on his clothes; at least he was wearing black. Otherwise he'd have been seriously tempted to just leave the man there. He ran back towards the city. After about half an hour, he was there.

Wesker left Green Arrow on the ground while he jumped up onto a roof and looked around. He soon saw where the plane had landed. It was in a large, otherwise empty car park. Apparently superheroes were allowed to land planes wherever they wanted.

When he got to the car park, still carrying the human, the plane's door was locked. The human didn't have the key: it had probably been taken from him by whoever attacked him. Breaking the window would risk someone being sucked out while the plane was in flight. Instead, he jumped onto another roof and ripped off a tile, which he used to wedge the door open so he could get at the lock. Once he was inside the plane, he lifted Green Arrow inside and took off.

He needed to work out where he was. The signs in the city had been in a Scandinavian language. He wasn't familiar enough with those languages to know for certain, or to understand any of the signs. Still, he had to be in the Arctic Circle for it to be this cold, so he was in the North of either Norway or Sweden. He could probably just about get to Washington DC without having to refuel the plane. He'd just fly west, taking as direct a route as possible.

About ten hours later, Wesker landed the plane at the Justice League's airfield.

Then the simulation was over and Wesker was back in the Meeting Room. He glanced at his watch—only an hour had passed, even though it had felt like much longer. Apparently these illusions could even distort the passage of time. All seven members of the Justice League were watching him, and Wesker looked calmly back, not allowing himself to show any sign of his discomfort with just how real the illusion had seemed.

"As I'm sure you realised, that was all an illusion," the Martian Manhunter said.

"That had been my immediate assumption," Wesker said. "Has the League come to a decision?"

"Not yet," Batman said. "You demonstrated some useful skills, but you'd have been dead within a few minutes if not for your powers."

"That's one of the advantages of superpowers," Wesker said. "They stop you dying."

"You can't rely on your powers," Batman replied. "There's always going to be someone more powerful than you. You need to be _better _than them."

One day, Batman would find out that, no matter how powerful his opponent was, Wesker was always better. But not yet. Even though he was trying to join the Justice League, they were still potential enemies, and Wesker was not planning on letting them know the full extent of his abilities.

Superman turned to Wesker. "Albert," he said, "we'd like to discuss this for a bit without you. I hope you don't mind."

Wesker wanted to tell Superman not to call him by his first name. Instead, he just said "Of course not."

Zatanna spoke again. "tropeleT!"

With another flash of light, Wesker was teleported back to the street he had landed on.

**A/N: Can _anyone _really keep track of Hawkman continuity?**

**NOTE on Wesker's military experience: he was a commissioned officer in the Corps of Engineers. His rank was not stated. I went with Captain partly because it gets awkward if he has too many different ranks and titles (he's already Dr Captain Wesker), and partly based on the length of time he was in the Army for. To become an engineering officer he would have to have studied combat engineering on the Engineer Officer Basic Course, although I doubt he's ever actually put this into practice as he probably wasn't in combat and most of his time in the Army was almost certainly spent working on military BOW projects.**

**His degrees on the other hand I just made up, choosing two very "elite" kind of places, and one in England and one in America to partially explain why his accent's all over the place.**

**With thanks to my beta reader, to everyone who favourited and/or followed, and especially to all those who left reviews.**


	5. Suspicion

"I don't trust him," Batman said.

Hal laughed. "You don't trust anyone."

That was true, or nearly true. Batman had learned long ago that no-one could be trusted, with, of course, the exception of Alfred. But there was something about Wesker that seemed dangerous.

"I am also unsure about him," J'onn said. "I attempted to read his mind but found myself unable."

"Couldn't that be because he has superhuman speed?" Clark asked.

"I think this is something else. His thoughts were fast, and difficult to keep up with, but not nearly as fast as a conduit of the Speed Force. I should have been able to read his mind, but it felt wrong somehow. I could not gather any information from his thoughts."

"That's unusual," Clark said. "Did it seem like he was deliberately blocking your telepathy?"

"No, I do not think so."

"In that case, I doubt he was lying to us. He probably had no way of knowing you couldn't read his mind, after all."

Clark always did want to see the best in people. Batman was still suspicious. "Clark, J'onn can't read the Joker's mind either. For all we know, this man could be a psychopath."

"We have no reason to believe he's done anything wrong," Clark replied. "Innocent until proven guilty, remember?"

"He uses guns. The Justice League don't use guns."

"I've used guns in the past," Oliver replied. "And Roy used to. Plenty of the Green Lanterns have been in the military—John was a Marine, you think he never used a gun?"

"That's different. Wesker has superpowers. He shouldn't need to rely on firearms."

"Well," Oliver said, "We can explain that to him if he joins. Anyway, he dealt with Zatanna's test pretty well without shooting anyone. Although now we're on the subject, how come I had to be the one getting rescued?"

"Why not?" Hal laughed. "You made a pretty good damsel in distress."

"We agreed that the illusion should test Wesker's ability to protect others and his loyalty to the team, not just his combat skills," Clark said. "That meant someone had to be in danger so we could see how he'd react. There was no particular reason why we chose you."

Batman decided to change the subject back to Wesker. A new, possibly dangerous, metahuman was more important than Oliver's ego. "We need to decide whether this guy can join or not. I don't like the combat techniques he used during the test. If those guards had been real, he'd have killed at least one of them."

"But he knew they weren't real," Hal said. "He probably didn't see the use in holding back."

Batman frowned. "That doesn't matter. His automatic reaction was to kill."

"Even if it was, we can train him to react differently," Clark said. "We don't know what he's used to. Maybe he's only ever fought other metahumans. Or maybe he's former military, or even a former secret agent."

"He was quite vague about his background," Zatanna said. "Maybe it was classified."

"Or maybe he's a criminal," Batman growled. He was starting to wonder if he was being irrational. He knew some members of the League were probably thinking he just resented Wesker, for apparently having a similar level of training to him and superpowers as well. But it wasn't that. It was more than that.

"He's trying to join the Justice League," Clark said. "If he is a criminal, he could be trying to reform. Refusing him because of whatever his background might be could drive him to crime again, not to mention making him resent us. I think whatever he used to be, we should give him a chance."

"I don't trust him either," Shayera said. "He's too mysterious, and too cold and formal. Like he's hiding something."

"True, but Batman isn't the most approachable guy in the world either," Hal replied.

Clark smiled at that. "Well, we'll see what the results of the vote are."

Everyone wrote down their vote. Batman voted "No," of course, and he hoped enough of the others would have the sense to do the same.

Clark collected the papers, then read out the votes. "We have three votes against, and four votes for. Albert Wesker is now a temporary member of the Justice League until we decide whether he should stay permanently."

"I'll teleport him back so we can tell him," Zatanna said.

* * *

Wesker was starting to get annoyed with being teleported without warning. He was now back in the Meeting Room, surrounded by the members of the Justice League.

Superman held out his hand. "Congratulations, Albert Wesker. You're now a temporary member of the Justice League."

Even through the gloves, Superman must have noticed the unnatural chill as Wesker shook his hand, but he didn't react. Presumably he was used to dealing with nonhumans, and assumed it was just a side effect of Wesker's powers. Wesker wondered if Superman would stay this calm if he knew he was shaking hands with a dead man, and realised he probably would: the Justice League had dealt with far more unusual situations.

"Temporary?"

"Yes," Batman said. "It'll be a while before we decide whether you'll stay permanently."

They weren't convinced yet? Wesker found that quite offensive, but he knew saying so wouldn't make a good impression. Instead, he just said "Very well."

He thought for a second, then decided he would need to be polite to them if he was to earn their trust. "Thank you for allowing me to join," he said, his expression giving nothing away.

They should have been thanking him—they should have been honoured to have him among them—but telling them that wouldn't endear him to them.

"That's OK," Superman said. "New members are always welcome. By the way, do you have anywhere to stay? I know you're new to this city. We can arrange something for you if you need it."

"Thank you, but I can make my own arrangements." Wesker would not be dependent upon assistance from these people or anyone else. True, he was in an unfamiliar universe, and in fact he was not entirely certain where he would go, but he could adapt.

Superman smiled. "All right. We'll be happy to help if you change your mind."

He handed Wesker a small communications device. "We'll call you on this if we have a mission for you. After we've worked together for a while we'll have another vote on whether to make you a permanent member. I'm sure you'll do great." He turned to the red-haired woman. "Hawkwoman, would you mind showing Albert the way out?"

Hawkwoman looked reluctant, but she turned and headed towards the door. Wesker followed her.

They walked in silence through the corridors of the Hall Of Justice. Wesker observed his surroundings carefully, trying to figure out the layout of the building. He didn't see anything particularly interesting, but the Justice League were probably still trying to keep him away from the most important areas.

Wesker hadn't planned on talking to Hawkwoman—there were aspects of his plan that he still wanted to consider—but, after a minute or so, she turned to him and spoke.

"So, who are you and how did you end up here anyway?" She sounded suspicious, as if she expected him to answer incorrectly.

Ignoring or avoiding her question would probably just make her, and the rest of the Justice League, want to investigate further. "I arrived here through what I can only surmise as being some kind of wormhole. I am originally from another universe."

"What did you do in your universe?"

That was a more difficult question. Telling her that he tried to eradicate 90% of humanity and rule over the world as God-Emperor would probably not be wise. He could say he was a scientist, but that might invite questions about what exactly he researched.

"I was a police officer," he said, watching to assess her reaction. "Captain of a team called the Special Tactics And Rescue Service."

"I used to be a police officer too. On my home planet, Thanagar." She seemed to have relaxed slightly, clearly thinking they had something in common. "I'm guessing you want to get back to your own universe, then? Can't leave your team without a Captain, after all."

"My team were all killed." It was true, after all; he was just omitting the minor detail that he had orchestrated their deaths.

"Oh. I'm sorry...what happened?"

"Forgive me for sounding rude, but...it is something I find hard to talk about."

Thankfully, that stopped her from asking any more questions, and they continued in silence until they got to the main door.

Hawkwoman held out her communication device. "These act as ID badges as well as sending messages. You can scan them to get in and out of here." She scanned it and the door opened.

"Since you're from another universe, you'll probably want to get your ID sorted out, otherwise there's no record of you existing. I had a similar problem when I arrived here from Thanagar, but Earth gets enough extraterrestrials that the government has set something up to deal with it." She paused. "There might be an 'illegal alien' joke in there somewhere. Anyway, I think they have something for people from other universes too. You might need to take in your driver's licence from your own universe but it shouldn't be too hard."

That was useful to know, although it wouldn't be quite so simple for Wesker. He was, after all, legally dead even in his own universe; his driver's licence was under a false name, and he had given the Justice League his real name.

He thanked her anyway before he left—she was clearly starting to sympathise with him since he had told her that his team were killed. If this continued he would be able to manipulate her quite easily. Eventually, the Justice League would be his own private army.

Of course, they would not be his only allies. To conquer this world, he would need to work with people who were...well, capable of taking actions that the Justice League would disapprove of.

The plan was starting to come together now. He would ally himself with some of the more powerful criminals— "comic book villains", although now he was in this universe, he would need to treat them all as real and potentially dangerous—using his false identity, "Karl E Webster". Working with them, he'd be able to get money, more weapons, access to a laboratory, and anything else he might need. Acquiring a fake driver's licence under his real name would then be trivial. He'd use _that _to get a completely legal ID as "Albert Wesker"—no-one would be able to tell that the driver's licence wasn't actually from his universe—so the Justice League wouldn't suspect anything.

Albert Wesker would be a trusted member of the Justice League, with no apparent connections to anything illegal. Karl E Webster, on the other hand, would soon control all the superhuman crime in the country, and then the world.

The only question now was which… "supervillain", for want of a better word...would be most likely to collaborate with him. Wesker smiled slightly as he realised he knew of at least one person in this world whose goals aligned with his own.

**Thank you, The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84, and thanks to everyone who followed, favourited and/or reviewed. Your reviews have been very encouraging.**


	6. The STAR Labs Job

**New York City**

It was nearly midnight on March 9, 2009. Only a few days ago, Wesker had been in Kijuju, thinking he was but mere moments away from his greatest victory. Now he was in another universe entirely, preparing to break into S.T.A.R. Labs.

He'd chosen his target carefully. He couldn't just approach the powerful criminals in this universe out of nowhere and expect them to work with him; he needed to be in a stronger position. That meant he needed money and weapons, and S.T.A.R. Labs had both.

S.T.A.R Labs had research facilities across the world. However, Wesker had no passport and very little money, so getting a plane ticket would have been impossible. That had limited him to research facilities within 300 miles, so he could run there, break in, and get back to Washington DC in one night. He certainly didn't want to commit a crime in Gotham or Metropolis—it would attract the attention of the Justice League, and he had other plans for them.

That left New York City—still closer to Metropolis than he would have liked, but the best option given the circumstances. It had taken him only an hour and a half to get there.

Of course, he did some reconnaissance before breaking in. You could find more information on a building's layout and security systems on the internet than most people would ever have guessed. It had taken him longer to find somewhere where he could use the Wi-Fi than to find the documents. Very few places were open at this time. Didn't it occur to these people that some of their customers might be superhumans who rarely needed sleep?

Now, he was sitting in a mostly-empty coffee shop, reading documents that really should not have been available to the public on his phone. He'd done his best to look inconspicuous and make sure no-one could recognise him—contact lenses of a similar blue-green to his eyes before their...transformation, no sunglasses, hair not slicked back. He hated looking so human, almost forgettable—aside from being taller, better-looking, and better-dressed than most—but the crime he was about to commit could not be associated with Albert Wesker, new member of the Justice League. He was using an American accent once more, and would have introduced himself as "Karl Webster" had anyone asked for his name.

To be fair to the place, the coffee was good. The barista had looked a little surprised when he'd ordered a black coffee at—to be precise—2352 hours, but had made it without question. The silent surroundings meant he could work out how he would break into S.T.A.R. Labs without having to deal with any mortals whose attention he might attract. Still, it was a bit of a step down from having all Tricell's resources, not to mention millions of pounds of his own (mostly stolen from various former employers), at his disposal.

After tonight, he would rise to power once more. He had everything planned now. The S.T.A.R. Labs building was surrounded by a fence, but that would prove no hindrance to someone with his abilities. There was an entrance on the roof that he could easily get in through. They had some security measures in place, of course: locks, armed guards, and cameras, but nothing he couldn't get past. _No laser hallway. Amateurs._

After that, it would be simple; he had memorised the floorplan and would have no difficulty finding the vaults where their most advanced research was kept. He could steal as much as he wanted, sell some of it on the black market, and possibly keep some for himself.

Wesker finished his coffee and left. He walked through the city—still crowded with swarms of humans even though it was midnight in March and probably cold by mortal standards—until he reached S.T.A.R. Labs.

The research facility was in a less crowded part of the city, far away from any of the places tourists generally visited. The building was fifteen storeys tall and bright white; it stood out in the dark city even though it was not a major S.T.A.R. Labs facility.

Two guards stood either side of the front entrance. Wesker casually walked around the building, towards the back. There was only one guard at the back of the building, and he was standing by the back door, quite some distance away from Wesker, and looking in the other direction.

Wesker stood near the chain-link fence towards the back of the building, keeping out of sight of the guards. He waited, pretending to look at his phone and hopefully not appearing remotely interested in S.T.A.R. Labs, until the few mortals still walking around aimlessly nearby had left. Taking a couple of steps back, he ran towards the six-foot fence, and leapt over it effortlessly.

He was about to head towards the main building when a thought occurred to him, drawing his attention back to the fence. He took hold of the metal chains in both hands and pulled them apart, snapping the metal and tearing a hole in the fence, big enough that someone could have entered through it. All but the most observant investigators would assume it had been cut. He didn't want to make enemies of too many superhumans this early; this crime would be less likely to attract unwanted attention if it appeared to be merely the work of a skilled human or possibly a team.

The guard standing by the back door clearly hadn't noticed anything, and was still not looking in Wesker's direction. Why did so many major science companies apparently choose to employ idiots? Wesker considered shooting the guard, but decided against it; his gun was fitted with a suppressor, but the guards at the front of the building might still hear. Anyway, he didn't need to kill the guard when he could run fast enough to be inside the building before the imbecile could turn around.

Wesker sprinted towards the building, just under the speed of sound so he could remain silent, so fast that to any mortal he would have appeared as nothing more than a dark blur. He jumped—grabbed a ledge and pulled himself up, around 100 feet off the ground—then leapt again, landing on the roof of the building.

He looked down briefly at the guard. The human had clearly heard something, and was looking, confused, at the area where Wesker has been standing a split second before. Still, he'd have seen nothing, except maybe a flicker in the corner of his eye. After a couple of seconds, he turned away.

Wesker walked towards the access door on the roof and examined it. It was locked. Wesker could easily have ripped it off its hinges, but that would have made it too obvious that a superhuman was involved. Instead, he turned to the keypad next to the door, and looked at it more closely. Some of the keys were obviously never used, while others—1, 7, and 9—were more worn.

He tried 179 first. The light flashed red, and the screen displayed "4 tries remaining". 197. After a few seconds, the light flashed red again. Three tries left now. The pause probably meant the number started with 197, but was longer than three digits; otherwise, it would have rejected it immediately. Four digits seemed likely, maybe a year. He tried 1977. Rejected again. Two tries—and, if it really was a year starting with 197, only two more possible numbers. 1979, then?

Apparently not. Only one try left now: he hoped it _was _four digits. Otherwise, he'd have to drop any pretence of subtlety and break in by force. But there was only one other possible four-digit number now. He keyed it in carefully. 1971. The light flashed green and the door opened.

Wesker climbed through the doorway and dropped down into the dark corridor below. The building was silent, apparently empty, although Wesker knew better than to assume the vaults were unguarded. He waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then looked around.

Several other corridors branched off the one Wesker was standing in: it would have been practically a maze if he hadn't memorised the layout of the building. All the corridors were lined with locked doors, many covered in hazard symbols and other warning signs. This place felt quite familiar—all it needed was a few zombies.

Wesker ran through the facility, too fast for the surveillance cameras to capture more than a few blurry frames, occasionally stopping—out of sight of the cameras—to listen for any footsteps that might be guards approaching. At first, the place seemed deserted, nothing but empty offices and storage rooms. He soon reached the ground floor, where the main laboratories were. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he looked down the corridor.

Unlike the rest of the building, the lights were still on here. Wesker squinted slightly as his eyes once again adjusted to the change. This time, the doors of most of the rooms were unlocked, and voices came from a couple of them. Others, however, were silent.

Wesker could have killed every scientist in the labs and taken anything he wanted, but S.T.A.R. Labs would have called the Justice League immediately, and they would almost certainly recognise him despite his disguise. Besides, the research he really wanted to steal was locked away in the vaults.

Instead, he walked down the corridor, as if he was just another employee, with a completely legitimate reason for being there. One scientist briefly glanced up from their research and looked at him as he walked past, but soon looked down at their work once more, apparently deciding there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation.

The door to the Metahuman Genetics Laboratory was open, and the room itself was empty, although the lights were on. Wesker glanced into the room, continuing his casual approach. As far as he could tell, the only security measures were two surveillance cameras. He looked around to make sure no-one was watching, then ripped both cameras off the walls in a split second—they wouldn't have captured any footage of him before he destroyed them.

Wesker hadn't been sure that there would be anything of value left unguarded in the lab, but then he noticed some dried DNA samples on one of the laboratory benches. He decided to examine them more closely, although he knew his time was limited—they wouldn't have left the samples out for long, so most likely whoever had been working on them had only left the room for a moment.

Wesker read the labels on the DNA samples. The collection was quite impressive—they had half the Justice League here, along with many others. Wesker picked up the one labelled "Superman." Would extraterrestrial genetic material be compatible with anything from Earth? He decided to take it anyway; it would be useful to study. He took several others as well, but he was slightly disappointed at the lack of DNA samples from some of the most powerful beings; then again, many of them were supposedly gods, not enhanced humans or even aliens. Perhaps they didn't have DNA; he was unsure of some of the details of how this universe worked.

His speculation was interrupted by footsteps, approaching a second door at the back of the room. Wesker sprinted out of the room—along several corridors—and was far away from the genetics lab before the scientist would even have had time to look around the room and notice the destroyed surveillance cameras and missing DNA samples. He headed towards the vaults.

So far, this had been almost unbelievably easy. Wesker had only been in this universe for half a day, and he already had enough DNA samples to create Bio-Organic Weapons more powerful than anything that existed in his own world, and possibly to augment his own powers as well. Still, to analyse them properly he would need access to a laboratory of his own, and for that he needed money. His main targets now were the vaults where the most advanced weapons were kept. He could sell those, and keep the DNA samples for his own research.

Wesker reached the reinforced steel doors of the vaults. Three guards stood in front of the doors, and all of them had guns and bulletproof vests. They turned to look at him as he approached.

"Identify yourself," one of them barked. It really was pathetic how these humans tried to be intimidating.

Wesker drew his suppressed handgun, and shot each guard twice with perfect aim through the forehead before any of them could react. Killing such weak creatures was too easy to even be interesting to him. He couldn't even say a clever line after killing them; he was trying to be stealthy, after all.

Unlike the other doors, this one needed a card to open. Having to make sure this crime was not associated with Albert Wesker did make it a little more challenging—he could easily have ripped the door off its hinges.

He'd become accustomed to committing any crime he wanted to without having to consider the repercussions—after all, the worst they could do in his own universe was add another crime to the long list of crimes he was wanted for. Here, though, he was no longer the most powerful person around, and he had to be more cautious. He'd just have to hope the guards had access to the vaults.

Wesker stepped towards the nearest corpse, crouched down next to it and searched its pockets until he found a card. He scanned it against the panel by the door.

The doors slid open slowly. Wesker walked through into the vault. The doors closed behind him.

Wesker had to admit, the level of technology in this universe was impressive. The room he was now in was full of weapons that had been mere speculation during his time as an army engineer. Everything from precision-guided rifles with advanced target-tracking systems—not that he needed such assistance, but plenty of criminals were unskilled thugs who still had enough money to buy expensive weapons—to EMP devices small enough to hold in one hand. He took a rifle, hiding it in his coat, then took an EMP device, and several different types of ammunition.

He would have taken more, but he knew far more powerful weapons existed in this universe. Even if S.T.A.R. Labs hadn't managed to replicate the unique, supposedly magical ones—he still didn't like the thought that they might be truly magical, impossible to construct using scientific knowledge—they must have had something better than this.

A safe on the wall caught his eye. Perhaps this would contain something more interesting. He stepped towards it and examined it more closely.

It looked like it could only be opened with a fingerprint scanner. He wouldn't be able to unlock it. He was about to walk away: after all, he had what he needed. He'd be able to get enough money with just the weapons he'd already stolen. But he couldn't just turn away from an opportunity like this one, not when he was so close. He looked at the lock again, trying to figure out if there was another way to get into it. It didn't look possible: the scanner appeared to have been cleaned recently, so there wouldn't be any residual fingerprints on it.

It appeared he would have to break in by force after all. He had hoped to be a little more subtle. Nevertheless, he tore the door off the safe.

As soon as he did so, alarms started screeching throughout the building. Wesker glanced at the contents of the safe. For a moment, he was slightly disappointed—USB sticks weren't exactly what he'd been expecting—but then he read the labels. These were designs and plans for new weapons that S.T.A.R. Labs hadn't even started to make yet—everything from laser weapons to combat robots. Someone would certainly be willing to pay a lot for these. He quickly put them in his pockets, then ran as fast as he could—never mind running quietly now, the alarms drowned out most other noise anyway—out of the door.

Four guards approached the vault door from the other end of the corridor. Wesker shot all four of them—twice in the head once more, he couldn't afford to leave any witnesses—and ran. Up the stairs—along more corridors—he shot another guard before the human had even fully registered that Wesker was there, reloaded, shot him again, then continued running.

He had been planning on escaping through the door on the roof once more, but when he was on the second-highest floor, another idea came to him. The guards would almost certainly be waiting near that door; it would be better for him to do something unexpected.

Wesker opened one of the windows and leapt out, landing on the roof of a nearby building. He immediately sprinted across the roof and jumped onto the next. He looked back at S.T.A.R. Labs: one group of guards had gone up to the roof of the facility and were looking around, apparently not having spotted him, while another group had gone out through the front door and were searching outside the building. They probably wouldn't guess that he'd jumped out of the window—after all, none of them had seen him use his powers, and even the safe door could have been pried off by a human with the right tools.

Still, it would be best to get out of their sight. Wesker continued running, although at a slightly slower pace that he could maintain for longer. Eventually he was out of New York City, and running across the border into New Jersey—not somewhere he would generally go by choice, but he was planning on selling these stolen weapons and plans as soon as possible, and he suspected Bludhaven would have plenty of people wanting to buy them.

**Thank you, The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84, and thanks to everyone who favourited, followed and especially those who left reviews. I've had some very encouraging reviews from various people, much more than I ever expected when I started this fic. Next chapter soon...**


	7. The Demon's Head

**Bludhaven**

Wesker hated Bludhaven. He'd only been there for half an hour and he'd already decided that his first action upon taking over the world would be to annihilate it.

It was not so much a city as a wasteland of crumbling skyscrapers; mortals wandered the narrow streets aimlessly or slumped in the doorways of buildings. Even the smell of the place disgusted him—the city was choked in smog, and while it couldn't do him any real harm, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Still, he had his reasons for this. His eventual aim was to ally himself with the League of Assassins, but they had proven difficult to track down. However, he was sure that someone in the criminal underworld of Bludhaven would have more information.

Wesker was currently walking through the worst part of the city. Most people would have avoided this area at all costs, in fear of being attacked. Wesker, however, wanted to be attacked; in fact, he was slightly disappointed that it hadn't happened yet.

Eventually, some thug—considerably shorter than Wesker, and carrying a Desert Eagle that was clearly too heavy for him—stepped out from the shadows of a doorway.

"You look like you got money. Go on, hand it over."

Wesker turned to face him. The human took a step backwards, glaring up at Wesker and waving the gun in his general direction.

Wesker grabbed his would-be attacker's wrist, twisting until he dropped the gun; at the same time, he drew his own gun and had it pressed against the man's head in an instant.

"You really have poor judgement when it comes to choosing targets."

"What do you want? I'll do anything-"

This man wouldn't have any information on the League of Assassins, but he might know something about organised crime in Bludhaven. Wesker twisted the mortal's arm further behind his back until he gasped with pain. "Tell me...who really controls this city?"

"The 1000…they run the place—they bribe all the cops—you don't wanna get on their bad side, man, they'll kill you-"

Wesker laughed. "I doubt that. Now, if I wanted to...negotiate...with the leader of the 1000 in this city...where would I find them?"

"You mean 25?" The mortal was staring at him, panicked. "Why do you wanna know this—who are you?"

"You don't need to know who I am—the world will know soon enough. Just tell me where to find this '25'."

Eventually he had the address of a bar which acted as the headquarters for the 1000 in Bludhaven. Wesker killed the human and walked away.

Outside the bar, an unobtrusive building in a marginally better-off area of the city (at least, the windows were neither broken nor boarded up), Wesker was confronted by two humans armed with machine pistols. He really was getting bored of dealing with incompetent mortals who thought they could intimidate him. He would have killed them, but he was here on business, and was hoping not to make enemies this early in the negotiations.

They eyed him warily. One reached for his weapon. "Who the hell are you?"

"Karl Webster. I'm here to speak to 25."

"Never heard of you."

"I wouldn't expect you to have heard of me. I doubt 25 discusses business with common thugs. I suggest you let me through. 25 won't appreciate the delay."

After a moment's hesitation, they stepped aside, allowing Wesker to enter.

The bar was quite busy, but fell silent as Wesker walked in. Several of the men looked up at him suspiciously. Wesker just looked calmly back.

The silence continued for a while before one man spoke. "Ain't seen you round here before. What are you doing here?"

"I believe 25 will be quite interested in what I have to offer."

"You can't just walk in here and talk to 25."

Another man stood up. He was clearly armed, although he'd tried to conceal the gun under a poorly-fitting suit jacket. "You shouldn't have walked in here at all. Best if you just walk out now."

Wesker was starting to think he'd have to kill them all and find someone else to buy the weapons, when a man who had been sitting at the bar drinking whiskey stood up and turned to him.

"I'm Frank Tanner. 25." He spoke to the group in a commanding tone. "Me and Mr Webster here gonna talk for a bit in private."

"Very well."

Tanner motioned to a powerfully-built man standing near him, who followed him through a door at the back of the bar, into a private room. It appeared that Tanner's definition of "private" did not exclude his bodyguard.

Wesker followed them into the room. Tanner sat down at a large table, back to the wall, facing the door. The bodyguard stood just behind him. He indicated the chair opposite him to Wesker. "Sit down."

Wesker wasn't going to sit with his back to the door, certainly not in a place like this. He remained standing.

Tanner watched him for a moment, then spoke. "I don't know what you want here, Mr Webster."

Wesker almost automatically corrected him to "Dr", but stopped himself. Instead, he said "Just call me Karl."

"Karl, huh? You looking for trouble, Karl? Cause I got Hammer to deal with people who looking for trouble."

The bodyguard- "Hammer", apparently, not the most original of nicknames—took a step towards Wesker, in a way that was probably intended to be menacing.

"Actually, I was hoping we could come to an agreement," Wesker said. "You might not have heard about it yet, but S.T.A.R. Labs was broken into tonight. The team who did it worked for me. The 1000 could control the world with the weapons my organisation has access to. Weapons I am willing to sell to you."

"What kind of weapons?"

"S.T.A.R. Labs have been manufacturing rifles that track their targets automatically. Armed with these, even someone with no training will never miss a target, even from miles away. We also acquired some EMP weapons—small enough to hold in one hand, and able to disable all electronics throughout a city. I have one of each here, but my organisation has many more."

Of course, he had only taken one of each, but if Tanner thought he had more somewhere else, he'd be willing to negotiate instead of just trying to take the weapons. Wesker placed the rifle and the EMP weapon on the table. Tanner picked each one up and examined them, but clearly didn't fully understand how they worked.

"You know, maybe we can come to an agreement after all," he said after a while. "Want a drink?"

"No, thank you."

"So, how come I ain't heard of this organisation of yours?" Tanner asked.

"I've stayed in the shadows until now," Wesker said. "I think it's time for that to change."

"Where's this organisation based anyway? You sound like you ain't from round here. Somewhere in the Midwest?"

At least he sounded American. It had been a while since he'd used the accent for any length of time. "Somewhere in that area, yes. You don't need to know where."

"So you wanna team up with the 1000, take over the world." Tanner grinned. "I kinda like the sound of that. 'Bout time us humans took back power from them freaks."

_Us humans? _Wesker managed to conceal his amusement, but it wasn't easy.

"I'll buy the weapons," Tanner said.

There was initially some disagreement over the price, but Wesker eventually managed to persuade Tanner to hand over a million dollars in cash.

"I'll make sure my...employees deliver the other rifles to you tomorrow."

"Karl, I think we gonna work well together. Have you thought about joining us? We need guys like you. You gotta kill someone to get in, but you don't seem like the kind of guy to have a problem with that."

"You're right...I'm not."

Wesker shot the bodyguard first. He fell to the ground, dead. Tanner stared in horror. He tried to get the rifle from the table, but Wesker shot him before he could get hold of it. Tanner slumped backwards in his chair.

Wesker put the money and the EMP device in his coat pockets. He picked up the rifle; he preferred his own gun, but this did look more intimidating.

Wesker walked out into the bar, stepping over the bodyguard's corpse, which had inconveniently fallen in his way, and trying not to get blood on his boots. When he entered the bar, several of the men grabbed for their guns and scrambled to their feet, a few knocking over barstools in their haste; others just stared at Wesker in shock.

One man had his gun pointed straight at Wesker. Wesker looked him in the eyes, unblinking, causing the man to flinch slightly.

"I wouldn't recommend shooting me. It wouldn't be the best first impression to make on your new employers."

"New-? What's happening?"

"My organisation is taking over the 1000, starting with Bludhaven. Everyone here works for me now, and my organisation will deal with anyone we even suspect of disloyalty. Murdering me would certainly be included in that category."

Slowly, everyone except Wesker lowered their weapons. Wesker watched them silently until he was certain none of them were about to attack.

"I'm glad to see everyone here is capable of being rational."

Wesker looked around the room to see what he could figure out about the inner workings of this organisation. Most of the people around him were clearly just low-level thugs, slouched by the bar or hunched around small tables. But there was one man, sitting at the head of a slightly larger table near the bar, who caught his attention.

The man had remained silent throughout the proceedings so far, and was now watching Wesker as if studying him, apparently unafraid. The people gathered around him seemed to be looking to him for guidance, instead of staring at Wesker or muttering nervously to each other like the rest. Everything from his suit to his posture clearly showed he wasn't just another thug.

Wesker turned to him. "I take it you were Tanner's second-in-command."

The man gave a nod of acknowledgement.

"What's your name?"

"Bernardo Farone."

"Bernardo, my organisation needs professionals like you. You can keep your position. In fact, I can offer you more power than you could ever dream of. But first, I have a question." He paused, made sure he had everyone's attention. The room was now silent. "I'm sure the 1000 have needed to...dispose of people in the past. So...if I wanted to speak to our colleagues in the League of Assassins, how would I go about it?"

"There's this guy who's part of the 1000 and the League of Assassins. We normally hire him if we think someone's gonna be hard to kill. Calls himself Merlyn."

Wesker knew very little about Merlyn, and was not convinced that someone who had named himself after a mythical wizard would be a reliable source of information. However, he had no better options. "Tell him to come here. I need to speak to him tonight."

**Gotham City**

Wesker had eventually convinced Merlyn that he needed to speak directly to Ra's al Ghul. Merlyn had taken him to Gotham in an armoured car, and led him into a hidden underground base.

The heavy, carved wooden doors of the throne room were open. Wesker knew Merlyn was following close behind him as he stepped through, observing his every move, ready to attack if Wesker gave any indication of being a threat.

Ra's al Ghul sat on a throne shaped like a demon's head—curled over him like an attacking cobra, the fangs directly above him—facing Wesker. Stone pillars carved with hieroglyphs lined the walls of the room: Ra's wasn't quite old enough to have lived in Ancient Egypt, but he was probably not expecting anyone to know that, and the effect was certainly dramatic. A masked man stood in silence in the shadows behind the throne. A servant—no, a bodyguard, he had the appearance of a trained fighter.

Ra's watched Wesker enter. His cold stare gave nothing away. Wesker had become used to most people being too uncomfortable to meet his eyes, even when he wasn't wearing sunglasses; but in his current disguise, he appeared like a mere mortal, and Ra's al Ghul was clearly not intimidated.

"Karl Webster. Merlyn told me about you." He paused, still watching Wesker carefully. "It is a pleasure."

He didn't sound particularly pleased, or even interested—as if he thought he dealt with people like Wesker all the time. Of course, he would soon know that nothing could be further from the truth.

"The pleasure is mine. I'm sure this alliance will be beneficial to both of us."

Ra's al Ghul stood up, his cape flowing behind him as he stepped towards Wesker. He was slightly taller than Wesker, and while his greying hair made him appear old—and he was actually even older—Wesker knew he was far from weak. Still, he would be no match for a god in a fight, if it came to that. Wesker stood calmly as Ra's approached him.

"You are very confident," Ra's said. "What makes you so sure you are worthy to work alongside me?"

The real question was whether Ra's was worthy to work with _him._

"The organisation I lead is extremely powerful, even more so now that a significant part of the 1000 is under our control. And since we broke into S.T.A.R. Labs a few hours ago, we are better armed than most militaries, and have the designs for even more advanced technology. If we joined forces, no-one would be able to oppose us."

"Very few people dare oppose me even now. After all, I have the most skilled assassins throughout the world, ready to kill or die on my command. You, on the other hand, have given me no indication that you are anything more than a common criminal."

How dare Ra's speak to him in this way? Wesker was not a common criminal; he was a god. And he had come closer to success in a few years than Ra's had in centuries. Wesker's hand curled into a fist, but he knew attacking Ra's would be a bad idea. Merlyn had taken his weapons before allowing him to enter. The masked man would definitely be armed, and Ra's almost certainly would be—and his strength and speed were enhanced by the Lazarus Pit, although not to Wesker's level. Even if Wesker did manage to kill all three of them, Ra's wouldn't remain dead for long. All Wesker would have achieved would be to make himself a target for the entire League of Assassins.

Instead, he carefully kept his expression neutral. "Can we talk without the servants present?"

"Do you really think I am that trusting?"

"What harm could a common criminal—unarmed at that—do to the great Ra's al Ghul?"

After a pause, Ra's turned to Merlyn. "You are dismissed, Merlyn. Do not come back unless I summon you."

Merlyn left, closing the door behind him. Ra's turned back to Wesker. "Ubu will not leave. If I tell him to keep our discussion secret, he will do so. He would die before betraying me."

Presumably Ubu was the masked man. Wesker waited, listening as Merlyn's footsteps receded down the corridor. He didn't speak until he was confident they would not be overheard.

"My plan is far greater than that of any common criminal, Ra's. In fact, I think our goals are very similar. To eliminate the unworthy, creating a new, better world. The 1000 are temporarily useful, but they don't know my true goal, and I don't expect any of them to live to see it accomplished. Mortals are expendable—people like us, on the other hand, are far superior."

A flash of metal. A scimitar pressed against Wesker's throat. Not hard enough to draw blood, but he could still feel the edge. As he'd thought. Ra's _was_ armed. Out of the corner of his eye, Wesker saw that Ubu had also drawn a sword.

Wesker laughed. The movement made the blade scrape against his throat, although it wasn't exactly painful. "You _could_ have just thanked me."

Ra's pressed the edge of the scimitar harder against Wesker's throat, hard enough that a human would have been bleeding.

"_People like us?_ How did you use a Lazarus Pit without my knowledge?" He was less than a metre away from Wesker, his eyes full of cold fury even though he'd hardly raised his voice above a whisper.

Wesker remained motionless, smiling slightly even as Ra's tried to force his head backwards with the sword. Ra's was so mistaken, it was quite entertaining.

"I didn't use a Lazarus Pit, Ra's. My power comes from a superior source."

"And what exactly makes it superior?"

"For a start, it doesn't rely on an ancient, difficult to find, and poorly understood mixture of chemicals that have never been successfully synthesised. It also has the advantage of not driving the user insane."

Of course, certain people had questioned his sanity, but the same could be said for any genius. Sergei Vladimir might have been deluded, but Wesker had to admit he'd had a point on that matter—the truly great were often considered insane by the masses.

There was a pause. "Continue," Ra's said.

"It enhances strength and speed far beyond anything the Lazarus Pits are capable of, prevents me from ageing so I could theoretically live forever, and gives me a healing factor capable of completely healing injuries that would otherwise have been fatal, in just a few hours at most."

Such as dragging himself out of a volcano—unfortunately, not something he would ever forget. Still, there was no reason to think about that now. It was probably best to focus on preventing Ra's al Ghul from beheading him.

"What is there to prevent me from killing you and taking this for myself?" Ra's asked.

"It's not that simple. The initial virus and the serum that allows me to maintain my powers are different, and I don't carry the virus around with me. I'd need access to a laboratory to create it, and I'm the only person in the world"-in _this _world, at least- "who knows how."

Slowly, Ra's lowered the sword. "Very well. With that combination of superhuman abilities and scientific knowledge, you might be a useful ally after all. We can work together, on the condition that you create this virus for me."

**Washington DC**

Wesker was back in Washington DC by the morning of March 10. Ra's had agreed that he could become a member of the League of Assassins "if he could survive the initiation"-Wesker was certain he'd survived worse—and possibly even choose a few assassins to work for him directly.

He'd also obtained a fake ID under his real name from a forger who worked for the 1000—he didn't like revealing that he was Albert Wesker to a criminal, but she knew he'd kill her if she told anyone. He'd opened an account with First Metro Security as Karl Webster, and another one as Albert Wesker—the bank was owned by Lexcorp, so would be more than used to covering up suspicious activity, and he'd even been able to store the stolen weapons in a safe there. Only temporarily, of course; he'd move them to a place he owned as soon as he had somewhere.

Now, he was in the flat he'd rented—as Albert Wesker—in Washington DC. It wasn't bad, exactly, but it was small and sparsely furnished compared to what he was used to. He wasn't planning on spending much time there; as Karl Webster, he could afford somewhere much more fitting for a superior being like himself. That could wait, however, as spending that much money so soon after the break-in at S.T.A.R. Labs would attract suspicion.

He'd taken out the contact lenses—he didn't particularly like them—and slicked back his hair again, and was reading a scientific journal that he'd borrowed from the nearby library, when the communication device Superman had given him started beeping.

**The usual thanks: The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84, everyone who has followed and/or favourited this story, and especially everyone who has reviewed (in particular Maka Info-Chan, for your especially positive comments, and shadowdispencer, for reviewing more chapters than anyone else has). Concrit is still very welcome.**


	8. War Zone

J'onn dodged the psychic wave bolt Grodd had launched towards him. He flew closer to survey the chaos, Clark hovering nearby. The street below them was blocked by piles of rubble and scattered with broken glass. People screamed and ran as the snarling gorilla charged towards them. One man was desperately trying to carry his crying son to safety, while a woman knelt beside another woman's body, trying to resuscitate her although J'onn could tell it was too late.

J'onn had sensed the panic of police and bystanders alike when Grodd had escaped from the prison where he had been kept, heavily guarded, for years. He had immediately informed the rest of the Justice League, but the damage had already been done.

"Ecrof Dleif!" A forcefield shimmered into existence, shielding the nearby people from Grodd's rampant destruction. Zatanna had teleported in as soon as she had heard about the attack, arriving before J'onn and Clark.

_I can't maintain a forcefield of this size for long,_ Zatanna said in J'onn's mind. _We need to get these people to safety._

"I take it you called me here to...fight the gorilla?"

Wesker had just arrived, and was currently observing the chaos from a nearby roof, surprisingly calm for his first mission with the Justice League. Clark flew towards him to speak to him.

"We need to recapture Grodd before anyone gets hurt. Thankfully he's unarmed and alone this time. I sent Green Lantern to the White House—if Grodd has any kind of plan, that might be his target, although it looks like he's just trying to kill as many people as possible. Keep an eye on your communication device—J'onn normally coordinates the team telepathically, but obviously that won't work for you."

J'onn watched Wesker closely when Clark said that. He thought he might have seen a flicker of surprise when Clark had mentioned telepathy—maybe the immunity to mind-reading really was just a side effect of Wesker's powers that he was unaware of.

"Actually, that might be useful," Clark continued. "You'll be immune to Grodd's mind control, so Martian Manhunter won't have to shield you. Keep Grodd distracted while we get the civilians out—Hawkwoman should be here soon to help you. Once we're sure everyone's safe, we'll come back here to fight Grodd, so you only need to hold him back until then."

Wesker drew a handgun. "How effective are bullets against this creature?"

"Not very. You'll do better fighting him hand-to-hand. Also, the Justice League doesn't use guns. We're not an army, and we're here to capture Grodd, not kill him."

The sunglasses made Wesker's expressions hard to read, but J'onn thought he saw his lips tighten slightly with displeasure.

J'onn relayed Clark's thoughts to Zatanna. _Could you teleport the gun into another dimension for now? We can talk about this properly with Albert after Grodd's back in prison._

"Mrasid!" The gun vanished in a swirl of purple magical energy.

Wesker still looked far from pleased, but he leapt down from the roof, landing—lightly enough to be almost silent to anyone without J'onn's Martian senses—on the pavement, in front of Grodd. Grodd snarled and lunged towards him. Wesker dodged the attack easily, and Grodd smashed through the wall behind him instead, sending broken bricks and fragments of concrete flying through the air. J'onn levitated the rubble to prevent it from hitting anyone and injuring or killing them, while Clark flew down to carry them out of the way.

* * *

Wesker dodged again as the gorilla leapt at him, its fangs bared. Before Grodd could attack him again, he ran at it, striking it in the face with his knee, hard enough to crush the skull of a human.

The gorilla staggered backwards briefly, but hadn't been hurt as much as Wesker had expected. It lashed out, trying to grab him, although he jumped aside before it could get anywhere near him.

Wesker looked up at the animal with a mocking smile. He'd never expected to find himself fighting a giant gorilla, but it was certainly more worth his time than slaughtering mortals who were incapable of fighting back. Still, he didn't expect a real challenge. A wild animal would be greatly inferior to anything Umbrella's bioengineering had created, and he'd defeated more than one Tyrant before. Then again, this time he was unarmed. This might be interesting.

Grodd picked up a chunk of rubble from the ground and threw it at Wesker. He dodged without much difficulty—it landed a few metres away from him with a crash, sending clouds of concrete dust into the air—but it gave Grodd time to attack. The gorilla was faster than it looked. It slammed its elbow into Wesker's chest—not like an animal, too calculated and too precise—knocking him backwards.

Wesker flipped in mid-air, landing on his feet. He faced Grodd in a fighting stance. This opponent was stronger than him, although not as fast, and far more intelligent than a BOW. Time to start taking this seriously—even though the idea of an intelligent, telepathic gorilla was still slightly ridiculous.

"You dare challenge Grodd, human?" The gorilla roared.

Interesting. It was able to speak intelligibly, although it didn't sound exactly like a human. How different was the anatomy of its vocal cords from that of a normal gorilla? This creature might be worth studying.

"Believe me, I am far from human."

Grodd glared down at him silently, then took a step forward, preparing to attack. Wesker decided there was little point in talking to the gorilla. He feinted a straight punch with his right hand to Grodd's left shoulder. Then a left-handed open-palm strike to the face. His opponent disoriented for now, he attacked again. Jump—spin—extending his leg into a roundhouse kick, aimed at the gorilla's head.

A flash of light. A sharp crackle and a jolt as he hit something, flinging him back. Again, he twisted in mid-air and just about managed to land on his feet. He looked up to see that a glowing forcefield now surrounded Grodd. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd started taking the fight more seriously.

Wesker circled Grodd, watching for an opening. He'd forgotten Grodd could create forcefields; then again, remembering details about a talking gorilla from a comic book had never been high on his list of priorities before.

This really was infuriating—he couldn't see any way of getting past. He wanted to kill this...ape now, if only he could find some way of attacking it. Maybe then he could dissect it and figure out how it did this, although the Justice League probably wouldn't approve. Superman had mentioned "recapturing" the creature. Not exactly practical.

"Hctirdle tsalb!" A jagged, dark bolt shot towards Grodd. It hit the forcefield, and swept around it, surrounding Grodd in swirling darkness. Wesker watched closely, attempting to analyse what was happening, but of course it was magic; it didn't follow logic, or natural laws.

Then the forcefield collapsed in on itself in a burst of blue and purple light. Grodd appeared dazed, although otherwise unharmed, and the forcefield had disappeared.

Wesker turned towards the voice. Zatanna had one hand raised, a faint purple glow emanating from it. She lowered her hand and turned to Wesker.

"That should stop him creating another forcefield, for a while at least. I'd help more, but there's quite a few injured people—I need to focus on healing them. Anyway, you don't seem to need much help, although Hawkwoman should be here soon."

She crouched down next to a human who was sprawled across the pavement, muttering more backwards words.

Wesker ran towards Grodd. A punch to the face—drawing blood this time. The corner of Wesker's mouth twisted up in a half-smile, baring teeth briefly. He kicked Grodd in the stomach. Then an open-handed uppercut in the face, blood still dripping from his gloves.

Grodd staggered back away from Wesker. Wesker was about to close in and attack again, anticipating victory, when Hawkwoman swooped down from the sky and drove both her fists into Grodd's face. Grodd tried to grab her, but a flick of her wings took her out of his reach. She lifted her spiked mace from behind her back with both hands.

Wesker raised an eyebrow at her. "You're late."

Hawkwoman didn't respond at first; she appeared to be preoccupied with slamming her mace into Grodd's head repeatedly, yelling wordlessly with each strike. Eventually Grodd stumbled and fell to his knees.

Hawkwoman grinned at Wesker. "You weren't waiting for me to rescue you, were you?"

"Certainly not. I'd nearly defeated him when you arrived."

"Well, I'm sorry to miss out on half the fight. It looked fun. I wanted to get here sooner, but I had to get all the civilians out of Grodd's way first."

Behind them, Grodd stumbled to his feet. Wesker saw it first. He hit Grodd with a side kick, then stepped in closer, striking with a knifehand to the neck. Grodd grunted in pain, then lunged at Wesker, who drew his arm back just in time. Grodd's jaws snapped shut right where Wesker's hand had been moments before.

"Guess I'm not missing out after all," Hawkwoman laughed. With a powerful stroke of her wings, she soared through the air to attack Grodd with a flying kick (in a more literal than usual sense). Wesker had to admit, she was quite a capable fighter, not that he needed the assistance. All the more reason to recruit the Justice League to his cause, especially if Uroboros could enhance their powers.

* * *

In another street nearby, Oliver Queen stood on the roof of one of the few buildings that hadn't been destroyed. Grodd had charged along the street minutes earlier, attacking anyone who tried to stop him. Oliver had arrived just a few seconds too late.

He surveyed the area from the roof, but couldn't see Grodd anywhere. The street was mostly deserted, except for a few people who were too badly injured to move, and their families gathered around them. Oliver could hear sirens in the distance, but he didn't know if the ambulances would get there in time for everyone.

J'onn spoke telepathically in his mind. _We found Grodd. Wesker and Shayera are fighting him while Clark and I evacuate the area. How long before you can get here?_

_I'm on my way, _Oliver replied. _Shouldn't take long. There's no immediate danger here-_

A man who had been crouched, shaking, in the middle of the road suddenly leapt to his feet. He stared up at Oliver with glowing yellow eyes, and gave a low growl.

_Spoke too soon. Grodd has at least one person mind-controlled. This might slow me down a bit._

Oliver nocked a blunted arrow, drew his bow, and aimed at the centre of the mind-controlled man's forehead. He released the arrow. It flew through the air to hit its target exactly.

The man stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, unconscious. Oliver was about to leave—he needed to get to Grodd and stop him killing any more people, and the mind control would break if Grodd was knocked unconscious—when another person who Oliver had thought was dead stood up, his eyes also glowing yellow.

Soon, the streets were full of mind-controlled people, grabbing anything they could to attack the few people who had somehow escaped Grodd's control.

* * *

Batman crouched in the shadows of another roof, watching the streets below. Grodd's glowing-eyed, brainwashed slaves had taken over more than a quarter of the city.

_J'onn. Keep Grodd distracted so he can't control any more people. How long until Clark can deal with him?_

_The evacuation is nearly finished, _J'onn replied, _so Clark should be back soon. Do you need backup over there?_

_I can handle this._

Batman leapt off the roof into the crowd. Gliding with his cape, he steered himself into a flying kick. He drove both feet into his target's face. The brainwashed man fell back with a snarl of pain.

Batman rolled as he landed—leapt to his feet—a woman charged at him with a baseball bat, screaming like an ape—he easily blocked her strike with his arm-

Threw her to the ground with a foot sweep-

She dropped the baseball bat. He grabbed it and snapped it in half. Threw the broken pieces to the ground.

A noise behind him. Someone trying to sneak up on him. He drove his elbow back. A crunch as his attacker's nose broke.

Then he was surrounded. Dodging wild, untrained punches.

Someone screamed. A knife-wielding man was about to attack a small group of defenceless people who'd managed to resist Grodd's mind control. There were always a few. Batman ran straight towards the group, trying to push through the single-minded swarm of attackers. He spun, swinging his cape to clear some space—several of his attackers stumbled back as the metal edges hit them—then threw a Batarang.

The Batarang flew through the air to hit its target. It knocked the man out instantly. The civilians stared at Batman for a second, frozen in terror, then ran.

* * *

An hour later, the battle was won, Grodd was recaptured and the Justice League were dealing with questions from the hordes of journalists that now filled the street, which had been deserted minutes before. There had only been three casualties; their names were read out solemnly while Wesker did his best to feign sadness at the deaths of people who had no significance to him. Then the reporters crowded round, vying to interview the Justice League. They all rushed to Superman first.

Eventually, one managed to get a question in. "Superman! I heard you personally carried over a hundred people out of Grodd's way, is that true?"

"I did my best," Superman replied. "I just wish I'd been able to save everyone."

That sounded like a waste of time, as far as Wesker was concerned. It did explain why Superman had taken so long to return and defeat Grodd; Wesker hadn't minded the opportunity to test his skills against a more powerful enemy, but he knew Grodd would have been dealt with far more quickly if Superman hadn't been distracted by saving people.

Wesker only half-listened as the reporters questioned Superman on whether Grodd was really imprisoned for good this time. The publicity was probably good for Superman's reputation, but Wesker didn't know how he tolerated this. How could an alien, more powerful than anyone on Earth, spend his entire life helping people who didn't deserve it, who would never give him anything in return? How could he talk to them as if they were his equals, and smile or look sad at the appropriate times, and pretend he _liked_ it?

Perhaps there was an opportunity here. Anyone as powerful as Superman must see himself as superior on some level, and yet he was treated as if he were a servant, with some duty to protect people who were far beneath him; not to mention having to live as a human for part of the time, pretending to be weak and inferior. He must have resented that, even if he didn't admit it, and if Wesker could offer him something greater—a position of power more worthy of a superior being—then perhaps he could manipulate him.

Eventually, after practically every reporter there had asked Superman some questions, they began to gather around the other members of the Justice League, although Wesker noticed that Batman had somehow managed to disappear immediately after the battle. Wesker wondered if he should have done the same, but it was a bit late for that now; and besides, he could probably gain more if he stayed here to listen and observe.

Still, he did hope this wouldn't take too long. He'd need a PG67A/W injection in two hours' time—leaving it any longer would at best cause his powers to weaken, and most likely have other side effects—and he wasn't going to do that in public and risk anyone figuring out that he needed injections to keep the virus stable.

A couple of reporters approached Wesker. Of course, he was one of the Justice League now, even if he was apparently only a temporary member. He turned towards them, trying to look interested.

"A lot of people have said they saw you fighting Grodd today," one of them said. "Are you the Justice League's newest member, or were you just fighting alongside them?"

"I joined recently, although this is the first time I've gone into combat with them."

The reporter appeared impressed. "From what I've heard, the things you did today were pretty amazing for a first mission. Pretty amazing for anyone, in fact."

_Obviously._ "Thank you."

"Is it true you and Hawkwoman managed to weaken Grodd to the point where it only took a single punch from Superman to knock him out?" Another reporter asked.

Several more reporters had gathered around him by this point, asking him more questions about his part in the battle. Apparently the news that the Justice League had a new member had spread rapidly.

Soon, a crowd of bystanders surrounded him, all apparently in awe, and whispering excitedly amongst themselves—he heard some of them discussing how powerful he was, and a couple of them speculating about who he could beat in a fight.

Of course, they were only mortal. They meant nothing to Wesker, but he did like the attention.

A man ran out of the crowd towards him, close to tears, and threw himself down at Wesker's feet. "Thank you-" he gasped out, gazing up at Wesker- "you saved my entire family...Grodd was about to kill us all when you attacked him-" he was actually sobbing now, and completely incoherent, it was ridiculous- "thank you so much—"

The man broke down crying, while the crowd backed away from him uncomfortably. Soon, two police officers had arrived to lead him away.

Wesker hadn't even noticed the man, or his family, during the fight; his only concern had been for fighting Grodd. Still, there was no need for anyone to know that. He couldn't help smiling slightly as he looked at the crowd, who had gathered closer to him once more as soon as the sobbing man had been taken away. Several held up phones and cameras to take photos. More reporters pushed through the crowd towards him. This was the kind of admiration a superior being deserved. These people almost worshipped him. _Almost. _It wasn't enough—they still acted more as if they were in the presence of a celebrity than a god—but it was a start.

Soon, he was talking to more reporters, this time being filmed as well. The questions were starting to get repetitive, but the thought that this would be broadcast around the world—that people across the world would look up to him—made up for that. Maybe this was why Superman tolerated humans; the adulation was certainly enjoyable.

Someone asked for his codename.

"I don't have one."

That caused several surprised and confused stares from the crowd.

Wesker continued. "I don't see the point of hiding who I am. I'm not from this universe. I don't have any connection to anyone here, or any other reason to conceal my identity, so I might as well just use my real name—Albert Wesker."

Gaining a reputation for honesty would no doubt come in useful.

The crowd whispered amongst themselves some more, then someone stepped forward and stammered a request for an autograph.

**A/N: Sorry about the long hiatus. Unfortunately I can't promise that this fic will update soon. However, it is not abandoned and I do have plans for the future chapters. I'm just quite busy at the moment.**

**Also, thank you Taff for beta reading. **

**Apologies to my usual beta that I wasn't able to discuss this with you, but since you didn't seem to be available and I didn't have any way of contacting you, I thought it would be best to get the chapter up since it had been on hiatus for a while already. I'd still like to thank you for all your help with this story. If you do decide you want to beta further chapters, you can always PM me and we can talk about it-I would definitely appreciate your feedback, no reason why I can't have two betas after all. If you don't want to continue betaing or are too busy, that's also fine.**

**Thanks to everyone who has followed, faved and reviewed.**


	9. Damage

**TW for flashbacks and general suffering because I'm cruel.**

Advantageous as joining the Justice League was, being expected to attend meetings was not to Wesker's liking. He'd always considered them a waste of time at Umbrella, and at Tricell had taken advantage of his unique position in the company to avoid them whenever possible.

Now, however, he had no choice. It was especially frustrating when there were far more urgent matters at hand—he had less than an hour now before he would need a PG67A/W injection.

Superman turned to Wesker. "Congratulations on your first mission with the Justice League, Albert. You helped save a lot of lives today."

Wesker glanced around the table—no-one would notice since he was still wearing sunglasses—to see the reactions of the rest of the team. Most of them now seemed more relaxed around him than their more distant behaviour when they'd first met. Wesker pretended not to notice that Batman was still watching him warily.

"In fact," Superman continued, "we've decided to make you a full member of the team."

"Thank you."

Superman smiled. "I'm sure you'll make a great superhero."

Green Lantern, who was sitting at the table opposite Wesker, grinned. "Yeah, welcome to the team."

Wesker smiled back, if not quite for the same reason. Everything was going as planned. As a member of the Justice League, he'd be above suspicion, able to gain anyone's trust—and he'd be in the perfect position to find out everything he could about each member of the League and exploit any weaknesses he discovered.

Superman continued. "There's just one thing we need to talk to you about."

Wesker looked back at him, waiting until he knew what this was about before saying anything.

"The gun you brought with you earlier." Superman's expression was serious, although he didn't appear angry. "I realise we didn't have time to discuss this with you before your first mission, but the Justice League doesn't use guns, or lethal force. A few of us were also concerned about some of the techniques you used in Zatanna's test."

Wesker had known this, but he had to bite back a sarcastic response when Superman said it so sincerely. Rules like that only put the Justice League at a disadvantage. Even a boy scout like Chris had the sense to shoot his enemies. Still, their stupidity would only make this easier for him.

"My apologies. Old habits."

Green Arrow frowned. "You were a police officer in your own universe, right? Not sure crushing a guy's skull with your knee should really have become a habit."

"We were an elite unit dealing with terrorism and organised crime. Hardly ordinary police work."

Green Arrow still looked unconvinced, and appeared to be about to say something else when Superman intervened. "It's fine, you're new to the team, you couldn't be expected to know. We don't stop our members owning guns, but please don't bring it on missions in future. Remember, as part of the Justice League, people will be looking up to you. There's a lot of responsibility involved."

"I'll bear that in mind."

Zatanna handed him his gun, he put it back in its holster, and the conversation turned to other matters. The rest of the meeting was fairly uneventful, although Wesker still paid attention, in case anything useful did happen to be mentioned. The Justice League discussed ways to prevent Grodd from escaping again, and plans for the reconstruction of the damaged areas of the city.

When the meeting finally ended, everyone stood up from their seats at the table and went their separate ways. Zatanna teleported out in a flash of light, Batman—where _had _Batman gone? Wesker frowned; he was sure he'd been there a second ago. The others mostly headed to different rooms of the Hall of Justice.

Wesker headed out the same way that Hawkwoman had shown him the day before. He'd nearly reached the door when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked around to see Hawkwoman approaching him.

"Hey," she said, "congrats on joining the team. And on your first superhero battle."

"Thank you," Wesker said, turning away again; he needed to leave quickly and couldn't allow Hawkwoman to delay him.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

He hadn't expected that. He looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. Was this an accusation? It hadn't sounded like one.

She continued. "Not many people on Earth seem to appreciate a good battle. The challenge, the danger… but I saw you during that fight, and I'm pretty sure you were having as much fun as I was."

Not an accusation, then. An attempt at finding common ground. He could use this. The more she thought they had in common, the more she'd trust him. Besides, she was not incorrect. He did enjoy a challenge, and fighting could be like a game: a chance to test his skills against an opponent, and to demonstrate his superiority.

He might as well try to appear friendly and get her on his side. After all, he could leave the injection a little while longer without any serious effects. Why miss this opportunity?

He smiled slightly. "Perhaps you're right. Why do you ask?"

"My home planet, Thanagar—we're a culture of warriors. It's something we've always been proud of." She hesitated.

"Here on Earth, I feel like people will be scared of me or judge me for that. I mean, there's Katar—my husband, he's away on a mission on another planet at the moment—but other than him, the rest of the Justice League...don't get me wrong, they're great people, and skilled fighters, but they're not _warriors_ like me and Katar. It's nice to have another person on the team who I have that in common with."

Interesting. He could take advantage of this, to create division between her and the rest of the Justice League, to make her trust him more than she trusted her own team.

"I'm honoured to be called a warrior by one so skilled in battle as yourself, Hawkwoman."

He watched with some satisfaction as Hawkwoman grinned at the compliment. This was unbelievably easy.

"Thanks," she said. She looked more relaxed now, and was leaning against the wall by the door. "Oh, and you can just call me Shayera. It's not like I really have a secret identity anyway. Guess that's another way I'm kind of like you—I've got no connection to anyone on this planet outside of the Justice League, so I've got nothing to hide."

She laughed. "Don't know why I'm being all serious suddenly. Anyway. What do you think of being part of the Justice League so far? You like it?"

"So far, yes."

Wesker considered making some excuse and leaving—small talk had never interested him—but this conversation had already been far more useful to him than he'd expected. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to feign interest for a little while longer.

"You seem to be fitting in pretty well considering you've only been in this universe for a day. I think you've got a bit of a fan club already." Shayera grinned at him. "At least you got a chance to neaten yourself up before you had to talk to the press. No offence, but when you first arrived, you looked like you'd slept in your clothes."

Not many people dared talk so casually to him, and Wesker couldn't help looking at her with slight surprise. But of course, as far as she knew, she had nothing to be scared of. He shrugged.

"As a matter of fact, I had. It's a long story. I don't make a habit of it."

"Damn, sounds like you've had a busy couple of days."

That was one way of putting it.

"Anyway," she said, "I don't know about you, but I need something to eat after that fight. I'm gonna go get a burger. If there's one good thing about Earth, it's the food." She paused, then continued as if she'd just thought of something. "Wanna come with me? I know you're new around here, and there's this great place nearby I can show you."

Now that he thought about it, Wesker realised he hadn't had time to eat since before his confrontation with Chris in Kijuju, if not longer. Still, the PG67A/W injection was more urgent.

"Unfortunately, I have to leave now, but thank you for the offer."

"See ya," Shayera replied.

Wesker left the Hall of Justice and started walking back towards the flat; Shayera followed him out of the door before flying off. Suddenly, Wesker's vision blurred. The buildings around him distorted, then the whole street spun. Wesker nearly stumbled, but caught himself just in time. He blinked a few times and reflexively rubbed at his eyes despite knowing it wouldn't help. He'd delayed the injection too long.

He considered running to get back faster, but appearing to be in too much of a hurry might seem suspicious to anyone watching, and he couldn't be certain that Batman hadn't followed him somehow; that man was impossibly stealthy for a human. He'd just have to walk back quickly.

By the time he'd returned to the flat, he had the beginning of a dull headache that he knew would only get worse. The walk back felt like it had taken hours, even though he knew it had only been a few minutes. It had been years since he'd last delayed an injection this much; he didn't usually allow himself to get distracted so easily. He'd forgotten how quickly the effects of missing one started to set in.

Wesker headed up the stairs; his flat was on the sixth floor, but by the time he'd got four floors up he was leaning on the banister. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, a sharp pain shot through his head. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to breathe and wait for it to subside, but his breaths suddenly seemed too shallow to be any use, and the pain only got worse. He'd just have to ignore it as best as he could and give himself the injection as soon as possible.

He clenched his fists briefly, then opened his eyes again. Somehow he managed to reach the door and unlock it with shaking hands. Once inside, he had to lean against the door for several seconds, breathing in rapid, pained gasps. He felt like he might collapse any second, and he was sure just leaving an injection too long had never made him feel quite so _weak _before. He couldn't allow himself to fall unconscious now, not when the vials of PG67A/W that he needed were in a locked cabinet in the bedroom, he had to get to them-

He dragged himself into the bedroom, his vision blurring and dimming more with every second. He was tired, and cold, and that shouldn't have been possible, he never felt cold—this definitely wasn't just the normal side effects of delaying an injection. He knew he should have known what was happening—he'd studied every detail of how his powers worked. If he could just think clearly for a second he'd be able to figure this out.

Wesker fell to his knees in front of the cabinet and started clumsily trying to unlock it. Another stabbing jolt through his head—he snarled in pain, but the pain wasn't the worst part of this, the pain was expected, it was how tired and confused he'd suddenly found himself that seemed wrong. He was shivering now; he hadn't even known he still had that reflex...and he _did _know what was happening now… he clearly hadn't recovered as fully from his injuries of a few days ago as he'd thought. His healing factor hadn't yet regenerated all the blood he'd lost... then without the PG67A/W his superhuman abilities were no longer keeping him alive… hypovolemic shock, yes, that explained how he felt cold suddenly-

_Get the injection. Analyse this more later if necessary._

Finally, he managed to open the cabinet and get the syringe. He drew the serum out of the vial, squinting at the markings on the syringe in an attempt to see whether he'd got the correct dose through the haze in front of his eyes. He'd never liked being so dependent on these daily injections, and it seemed more infuriating than ever now that it reminded him of how it had been used against him, but he had no choice but to inject himself with the serum.

The pain faded and Wesker felt his strength return, although perhaps not quite as quickly as usual. He sat down on the edge of the bed until his breathing had slowed and he'd stopped shivering. Now that the PG67A/W had reminded him, he couldn't stop thinking about the events of three days ago; he'd been too busy to think about it up until now, and he'd have preferred it to stay that way, but now he was too tired to stop himself from wondering just how everything had gone so wrong.

His plan had been perfect, of course it had. Chris was the one to blame for what had happened, not to mention Excella, and Jill; Chris would never have discovered his only vulnerability if not for them.

He frowned, standing up and pacing across the room, then back again. Chris shouldn't have been _able_ to poison him. A god should have no vulnerabilities. Wesker tried to force himself to maintain a logical approach, to analyse everything that had happened and determine whether his plan could have been improved. But his memory from the PG67A/W overdose until his arrival in this universe was disjointed, there were long gaps in it—why couldn't he remember?

Chris had injected him with the serum...then he remembered vaguely that he'd somehow escaped onto the bomber plane. He'd fought Chris on the plane, he knew that much, but his next brief flash of memory was of falling, and he had no idea how it had happened. He'd landed in a lava field, although he didn't remember landing, he just had an image of rocks and lava and a memory of heat—infecting himself with Uroboros, Chris shooting at him—then it was as if his mind was forced to skip over everything else up until he'd woken up on the floor of the plane.

Wesker turned to pace back across the room once more. Everything about this was _wrong_. He shouldn't have been able to forget what had happened so easily. It was as if the memories were there, but he couldn't reach them for some reason, even though he was able to deduce enough to fill in the gaps—he must have fallen into the lava during the fight, allowing Chris to escape—he must have dragged himself out-

The memories rushed back then. A blur of pain and heat, the charred smell of burning skin and flesh—almost like burning meat but mixed with metallic blood and bitter from the virus—the images were confused but somehow more vivid than the room around him, leaving him standing frozen in place. It was as if he were there, dragging himself over jagged, burning hot rocks that scraped across his scorched skin. Instinctively, he grabbed for the nearest object in front of him as if to prevent himself from falling, suddenly so dizzy that the PG67A/W injection might as well have done nothing.

The back of the wooden chair he'd grabbed crumpled under his grasp and exploded into splinters; they flew in every direction, some bouncing off him harmlessly. Wesker shook his head. He had to regain control of himself. He stared around the room in a daze, feeling like he'd never seen it before.

Why was he being so irrational? He'd _died_ before and it hadn't affected him in this way; he could remember every detail of it, but there was little emotion attached to the memory. Pride, if anything, although in his current situation he wasn't exactly feeling nostalgic. But when he'd died it had been part of his plan. He'd been in control. This time, nothing had gone as planned. He'd been helpless in a way he never had been before. _A god must not be helpless. _

He needed to stop thinking about this. He had never been given to self-pity and now was no time to start. There was a lot he still had to plan; taking control of the other branches of the 1000, for a start, and finding out more about the League of Assassins initiation—he'd tried to research it earlier and had found nothing. Of course, an organisation of assassins would be good at keeping secrets, but perhaps there was some information somewhere.

Yet none of this felt as real as the volcano, and for a second he wondered if he was still there. It would explain why the past few days had made so little sense if they'd all been in his head, and he still couldn't clearly remember how he'd escaped. If this was some kind of delusion, that might explain his irrational reaction moments before.

No, this had to be real. Perhaps he wasn't thinking quite as logically as usual, but he couldn't have entirely lost his grasp on reality. Besides, he certainly wouldn't be hallucinating comic book characters. _The Matrix, maybe. _In his still-disoriented state Wesker found the thought funnier than he should have. He noticed his laughter with a disconnected feeling, as if observing someone else.

The ringing phone startled him out of it; in fact, it startled him entirely too much for such a commonplace sound. Not his own phone, the burner he used for his dealings with the 1000 and the League of Assassins. Wesker answered, trying not to let his tone of voice give anything away—his new "allies" were if anything less trustworthy than his old ones, and he couldn't afford to show any sign of vulnerability.

"Karl Webster speaking."

"Be at that bar in Bludhaven the 1000 use, in four hours' time," the voice on the other end of the phone—not Ra's, or Merlyn—growled. _He could at least have introduced himself._ "Merlyn will meet you there." He hung up before Wesker could respond.

Four hours, and then presumably the League of Assassins initiation. Wesker took a few deep breaths; he had a clear plan now, for the moment at least. He had some time to prepare, although no information on what he was preparing for. He'd definitely need to eat something; he'd been relying on his healing factor a lot recently, and he could only do that for so long.

He'd been planning to cook himself a steak, but the smell and sound of burning flesh were still too strong in his mind—he'd vivisected people before, why was this of all things affecting him? He eventually decided to go to a restaurant instead; to his slight disappointment, a place he'd been to a few times when he'd previously visited the city didn't exist in this universe, but he found somewhere that looked good soon enough.

When he entered the restaurant, several customers started taking photos. Normally he'd have liked having so many admirers, but now he barely paid any attention to their questions, answering most with only a couple of words. Still, apparently the restaurant offered a discount to superheroes, not that he needed it. He ordered a steak, of a cut that was technically intended to be shared; healing from severe injuries used up a lot of energy, after all. The food was good, although he was still more than a little distracted, so didn't appreciate it quite as much as he otherwise might have. He tried to focus on planning his next steps, as there was no benefit to thinking more about… recent events.

Afterwards, he returned to the flat to wash the gel out of his hair and put the contact lenses back in. He'd need to come up with a better disguise at some point. The accent helped, but there was still too much chance of someone recognising him as Albert Wesker now he was famous. Still, it would do for now.

The initiation was likely to involve combat. Wesker briefly considered bringing some of the S.T.A.R. Labs weapons, but that risked the League of Assassins stealing them; a handgun and a knife were all he needed anyway, although he did pick up a few extra magazines. He'd probably end up with bullet holes in his clothes. He sighed—there was nothing he could do about that now—and made a mental note to get a combat uniform made as soon as possible.

An hour and a half later, Wesker walked in from the smog-filled streets of Bludhaven to the smoke-filled bar—didn't anyone breathe in this city?-to see Merlyn leaning against the counter. The other customers were keeping their distance, some watching him nervously. He was the only representative of the League of Assassins in sight: the man he'd spoken to on the phone didn't appear to be present.

Merlyn turned to look at Wesker. "You can hand over that gun I'm sure you've brought with you. Being an Assassin takes more skill than just pulling a trigger."

Wesker was tempted to shoot him instead. A mortal had no right to address a god so disrespectfully. However, killing Merlyn would turn the League of Assassins against him. Wesker gave Merlyn the gun. They headed out of the back door to where an armoured car identical to yesterday's was parked.

This time, instead of driving to Gotham, Merlyn drove out into the countryside. Wesker watched his surroundings, memorising the route. Eventually, they reached a small private airfield, with a sleek black stealth plane—not a model he recognised, but that wasn't too surprising since so much was different in this universe—looking slightly incongruous on the grass.

Wesker turned to Merlyn, eyes narrowed in contempt. "Is that really necessary to transport two people?" He smirked. "Or is it intended to impress me?"

Merlyn glared back. "The League of Assassins deals with second-rate gangsters like you all the time. We have better things to do than try to impress you." Still, he didn't offer any better reason for using the stealth plane, so Wesker suspected he hadn't been too far from the truth.

They boarded the plane. It had presumably been designed for a crew of two, since there was room for both of them and stealth planes weren't generally expected to have passengers, but had been modified so only one person was actually flying it. Merlyn sat down at the controls and took off, still giving Wesker no indication of where they were going.

**Thanks Taff for betaing, and Tyra for helping me figure out various random things ranging from "does this bit make any sense" to "what would Wesker's blood taste/smell like" when I was trying to avoid spoiling some people on the other server.**

**Thanks to everyone who has followed, faved and reviewed.**

**IMPORTANT UPDATE: OK so... I recently reread a fic called "Weak" by Ultionic, purely because I remembered liking it the first time I read it. It's a oneshot set in Africa a couple of years before RE5 where Wesker leaves a PG67A/W injection a bit too long and it's not fun for him. I like Wesker suffering, so the story was pretty fun for me.  
I have slightly different headcanons to the author in terms of how quickly the effects would usually set in (Wesker's seriously weakened by his earlier injuries in my fic, it's not usually that bad, unlike in "Weak") but I really liked the fic anyway.  
The only conscious influence the story had on me was including blurred vision as a symptom. I had planned this scene before reading the fic, but wrote it after I first read the fic. I hadn't been sure about blurred vision since I didn't want the symptoms of not getting the injection to be too similar to the overdose symptoms, but I liked it in that fic which influenced me to add it to mine (although I was also influenced by various whump blogs that I've read entirely too much of for most of this scene...)  
However, rereading "Weak", I noticed a few things that were either subconscious influences, or weird coincidences. Not sure which, but I thought I'd give credit just to be sure (when I posted this chapter I didn't think of it...careless of me).  
The two things I think I might have used subconsciously: Wesker rubbing his eyes but knowing it wouldn't help, and Wesker sitting down on the edge of a bed after giving himself the injection.  
I've also just noticed that "Weak" has the phrase "God cannot be weak" and I have "A god must not be helpless" (although referring to his defeat in RE5, not to the PG67A/W). I don't think this came from "Weak" at all, I think it was more meant as an echo of my earlier "A god should have no vulnerabilities", but maybe there was subconscious influence. Or maybe that was coincidence.  
I'm fairly sure no other aspects of this chapter were influenced by "Weak."  
Sorry for not noticing this earlier. I definitely didn't go out of my way to copy anyone, but perhaps since I liked the fic—it is a good story, well-written and in character—some influence crept in.  
I hope I haven't messed up too badly by not mentioning this in the A/N when I posted.**


	10. In For A Kill

The plane flew down towards the Himalayas. A few faint lights on the ground shone out of the darkness from a short runway near the base of a mountain below them, surrounded by jagged rocks. There were a few buildings on top of the mountain, with a wall around them, even though the altitude meant humans would struggle to survive there. Aside from that, there were no signs of life for miles around.

They landed and Wesker stepped out, while Merlyn stayed in the plane. The air was cold enough for even the breath of a dead man to form clouds of condensation. A thin layer of snow coated the ground, swirling in the wind that whipped around the rocks.

The plane took off once more, leaving Wesker standing alone, looking up at the steep slopes of the snow-covered mountain in front of him. Soon, the sound of the plane's engines faded into the distance. The mountains were now silent except for the howling wind. Wesker quite liked it here—it made a change from cities crowded with humans—but he knew he was unlikely to be truly alone. After all, he wasn't here for a holiday: this was a test, and he needed to be alert. Still, that just made this all the more interesting.

The buildings on top of that mountain had to be connected to the League of Assassins. There was no reason for ordinary people to live somewhere so dangerous, and it couldn't be a coincidence that the runway was here, either. The test was unlikely to be as simple as "get to the top of the mountain", but it was a good way to start.

Wesker ran up the lower slopes of the mountain; it was practically effortless at first, but the mountain became steeper as he got higher up, and soon he found the only way up was a vertical rock face. He ran towards it and jumped, grabbing onto a handhold halfway up, and started to climb.

The rush of air alerted him to the arrow flying towards him just in time. Wesker reached to one side for another handhold, pulling himself out of the arrow's path—it hit the rock face next to him and bounced off. He looked over his shoulder to see where the arrow had come from.

At first, there seemed to be no-one in sight. It was the glint of starlight off the Assassin's bow that gave away their position as they crouched behind a rock on a wide ledge halfway up the rock face.

Wesker climbed across the rock face towards the Assassin, and landed on the rock they were hiding behind just as they were preparing to shoot another arrow. They stood up, backing away as fast as they could. Wesker jumped down onto the ledge to close in on them. He couldn't risk letting them escape: they were well-camouflaged in dark grey armour that blended into the rocks, with a mask covering their entire face except their eyes. They could easily disappear into the darkness to attack again later if he didn't deal with them now.

The Assassin drew a dagger and lunged towards Wesker. Of course, they never stood a chance of hitting him. Despite their training, they were as pathetically slow as any human. He grabbed their wrist with one hand and pulled the dagger out of their hand with the other, then drove the blade into their stomach. With his superior strength he was easily able to force it through the armour.

The Assassin stumbled backwards with a gasp of pain, the knife still in their stomach. Wesker charged forwards and punched them in the face. They fell to the ground. He slammed his foot down on their head, crushing their skull.

Someone wrapped an arm around his throat from behind in a stranglehold. Where had they come from? Wesker quickly grabbed their arm with both hands and wrenched it down to break their hold on his neck.

The sharp crack told him that wasn't the only thing he'd managed to break. Keeping hold of the Assassin's broken arm with his left hand, he reached behind him to wrap his right arm behind their head, then threw them forwards and off the ledge.

The Assassin hit the rocks below with a crunch as more bones shattered. If they weren't dead, they soon would be; they had no chance of getting down the mountain and to safety before they bled to death.

Wesker looked around, trying to figure out where the second Assassin had attacked from and whether there were any more. A cave further up the rock face caught his eye. They must have been hiding in there, and jumped down when he was distracted by the first Assassin.

Wesker climbed up to the cave to see if any more Assassins were hiding there, but it was empty. That made sense; spreading themselves out would make their attacks less predictable. He continued climbing—it was getting harder now as the rocks were slippery with ice. He reached the top of the rock face, pulled himself up onto a shallower slope and started running. The snow was deeper here, and Wesker soon found himself having to slow down slightly to avoid crevices covered by the snow, but he was still running at superhuman speed.

"Finally." A young woman's voice, with a heavy Texan accent. Wesker looked up to see her standing on an outcropping above him. "Ya know, it's borin' as all get out up here."

Unlike the other Assassins, this woman wasn't wearing a mask and wasn't nearly as heavily armoured. She'd also made no attempt at camouflage—it was still too dark to see what colour her costume was, but it didn't blend into either the rocks or the snow.

"It might surprise you to know I'm not here to entertain you. If anything, I think it might be the other way around."

She grinned. Something about that smile suggested mental stability was not a strong point. "I'm sure we're both gonna have plenty of fun."

She leapt down towards him, launching herself into a jumping kick. Wesker dodged. She immediately charged forwards and attacked again—a downwards elbow slash aimed at his chest. Again, he dodged. By human standards, she was quite fast, but of course she was no match for him.

She was watching him now, clearly surprised at his speed and being a little more cautious than before, keeping her distance and facing him in a Muay Thai stance. Her technique so far suggested that was the only martial art she knew, although she was clearly skilled at it. Wesker faced her in the same stance—let her think she could predict his actions, so she'd get overconfident. That way he could end this quickly.

Wesker feinted with a hook, allowing her to block it with her arm. He grabbed her with one hand around the back of her neck, then hit her with a knee strike in the stomach. She stumbled backwards, half-doubled over and gasping for breath. He leapt towards her, ready to impale her with a spear hand—

She moved forwards at the same time. Her elbow slammed into his shoulder with a horizontal strike. It wasn't enough to hurt, but the impact to his arm slowed down his attack, making him miss. She then hit him in the face with a spinning backfist.

Of course, it hurt her hand more than it hurt him. She gave a sharp inhale as her fist connected. Wesker smirked. Did she really think she could harm him?

The woman glared up at him, her teeth gritted in a pained grimace. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Blondie. I ain't done with ya yet."

She was persistent, at least. Not bad for a human. Well, that only made the fight all the more enjoyable.

Wesker struck her shoulder with a thrust punch, sending her flying backwards. She climbed to her feet almost immediately, however, then lashed out with a foot jab. Wesker dodged, moving into a cartwheel with one smooth motion.

As he'd expected, the woman clearly had no idea how to react to a technique that wasn't used in Muay Thai. She instinctively backed away, hands raised in a defensive position. He took advantage of her confusion to strike her in the side of the face with a reverse roundhouse kick. Her neck snapped as the impact forced her head to one side, then she slumped to the ground, dead.

Wesker smiled in satisfaction. The League of Assassins had clearly underestimated him. If anything, he wished his opponents had presented slightly more of a challenge. Still, if nothing else, the fight had taken his mind off other matters. In combat, the only thing of any consequence was destroying the opponent; it gave a certain clarity, perhaps because it made more sense than anything else had recently, perhaps just because it was too immediate not to be real.

The sun hadn't yet risen, but the first light was starting to creep over the horizon. Wesker checked his watch: 2053 hours in Eastern Daylight Time, and depending on where in the Himalayas he was he'd be between nine and ten hours ahead of that. He'd been here for nearly an hour, and he was just over halfway to the summit.

Wesker brushed his hair off his face—he'd forgotten how inconvenient it was not to have it slicked back—and continued on his way up the mountain. Something moved in the corner of his eye, off to his left. He turned towards the motion, but no-one seemed to be there. After watching for a moment, he ran on, but kept an eye out in that direction, on guard for another attack.

A knife flew towards him. Wesker caught it just in time. It had come from the opposite direction to the movement he'd seen moments before. No human could have moved that fast; either his attacker was superhuman or there was more than one of them.

Wesker turned to face his attacker, knife raised in a guard position. A short man with wild blue hair and white face-paint grinned up at him from a monkey-like crouch. He held a jagged knife in each hand.

Wesker ran towards the man, attacking with a horizontal knife thrust aimed at his eye. The man ducked under Wesker's attack, then leapt to his feet, stabbing up towards Wesker's chest with the knife in his right hand. Wesker grabbed the man's arm with his left hand before the attack could hit him, twisting it until the Assassin dropped the knife. Wesker kicked the knife away, keeping hold of the Assassin's arm. He attacked again with an upwards slash towards the Assassin's throat.

The Assassin ducked his head to one side, avoiding the attack. At the same time, he slashed towards Wesker's face with the knife in his left hand. Wesker drew his arm back just in time to parry with his own knife. The Assassin's blade broke on impact; it flew through the air, then clattered across the rocks when it hit the ground.

Wesker moved in closer, still keeping hold of the Assassin's right arm. The Assassin lashed out with a left-handed punch to his chest. Wesker dodged with a slight step to one side, and stabbed up through the lower ribs on the Assassin's left side. The Assassin howled in pain. Wesker pulled the knife out, blood dripping onto the snow that covered the ground.

Wesker hooked a foot behind the Assassin's legs and threw him to the ground. The Assassin landed sprawled on his back. Wesker crouched over him, pinning the Assassin's right arm down with one hand. The Assassin reached his left hand upwards towards Wesker's face with a tearing motion, long claws extending from under his fingernails—slashed the side of Wesker's face, leaving several shallow cuts, narrowly missing his eye—

Blood was running down his face—he'd been lucky not to be blinded—but at first Wesker felt nothing, too caught up in the fight. Even when he noticed the sharp stinging pain, he didn't care. He was so unstoppable that even pain was exhilarating; nothing could truly harm him. Wesker grabbed the Assassin's left wrist with one hand, keeping him pinned down with the other. The handle of the knife pressed against Wesker's palm as he twisted the Assassin's wrist. He snapped it easily, then slit the Assassin's throat.

Still crouched over the corpse, Wesker examined the Assassin's clawed hands. How did they work? The tips of his fingers had small openings under the fingernails for the claws to come out through, but the claws couldn't have been stored inside his fingers. If they had, he wouldn't have been able to bend his fingers or grip anything. They were too long to fit inside the back of his hand, so they must have been able to retract into the arm.

Wesker carefully sliced open the corpse's forearm, revealing sheaths for the claws, and a complex muscle and tendon structure to extend and retract them. The bones in the hand were also different to those of a human, presumably so the claws could move through without damaging anything. Had he been born like this, either because of genetic modification or natural mutation, or had this been done through surgery? Wesker memorised every detail in case it could be useful for a BOW.

Wesker stood up and wiped the blood off the knife. He might as well keep it. The sun was rising, and Wesker narrowed his eyes against the light as it shone off the snow, unused to not wearing his sunglasses. He continued up the mountain; he was getting close to the top now. The air was thinner here; it didn't affect him nearly as much as it would a mortal, but any opponents he had yet to face would probably have had time to acclimatise.

So far, the initiation had been easy, serving as a reminder of his superiority to even the most skilled humans. He was unharmed except for the shallow cuts on his face, which had stopped bleeding and no longer hurt. Apparently his healing factor was now working as well as it ever had.

However, he knew better than to let his guard down. Especially when he once more caught a movement off to his left. No, not just a movement. The morning light revealed a flash of bright yellow. So, there _had_ been more than one person following him earlier. Whoever this other Assassin was, they were apparently rather overconfident, considering their conspicuously bright choice of outfit.

Wesker decided to attack first. Why not give the Assassin a bit of a surprise? He sprinted towards them with a sudden burst of speed—not quite as fast as he could have been if he hadn't been running over snow and ice-covered rocks, but still fast enough that he'd appear as a blur to the human.

As he ran, his attacker threw a flurry of shuriken towards him. Wesker dodged each one with little effort. He closed in on the Assassin—a masked man in a yellow version of the Assassins' uniform, wielding two steel tonfa, one in natural grip and one in reverse.

Wesker drew his knives, holding them in reverse grip, one out to each side, then struck downwards diagonally with both knives at the same time. The Assassin raised the tonfa in his left hand, blocking one of the blades at the last second. He tried to twist out of the way of the other knife, but wasn't quite fast enough. Wesker had aimed to stab him in the chest—instead, the blade raked over the Assassin's ribs, not deep enough to kill him.

The Assassin stumbled, blood soaking the right side of his uniform. Then, with a click, a hooked blade slid out from the tonfa in his right hand. He lashed out with it, aiming for Wesker's face.

Wesker grabbed the tonfa with one hand—keeping hold of the knife—before the blade could get anywhere near him, and forced it upwards, bending it. He kicked the Assassin, driving his foot into his wounded side.

The Assassin was hunched over now, his breath heavy and pained, but he didn't back down. He struck upwards with the tonfa in his left hand, slamming it into Wesker's jaw, but he was too weak for the strike to be painful.

Wesker slashed at the Assassin's face, forcing the Assassin to step backwards and move into a defensive position, tonfa raised. Wesker leapt over the Assassin's head with a front flip, landing behind him, and stabbed him in the lower back, straight into one kidney.

He pulled the knife out. The Assassin crumpled and slumped backwards to the ground. Wesker stabbed him once more in the femoral artery—might as well be thorough—then cleaned off his knives again and sheathed them.

Half an hour later, Wesker reached the summit of the mountain. The final part of the climb had been less interesting, as no more Assassins had attacked him. Thanks to the Assassins' outdated weaponry, he didn't have bullet holes in his clothes after all. He was covered in blood, but most of it wasn't his. There were worse situations to be in. Wesker couldn't help but give a brief triumphant grin as he surveyed his surroundings.

The mountain was the highest for miles around, with thick clouds around it and below it. Several centimetres of snow already covered the rocks, and now more snow was falling. Even from this height, he couldn't see any buildings in the surrounding mountain range or the more distant valleys.

In contrast, the League of Assassins base in front of him seemed even more out of place. The white stone wall towered above him, easily thirty feet tall, and featureless apart from the spiked metal gate set into it. Wesker studied it for a moment. Was he expected to break in? He'd be more than capable of it, of course, although he couldn't discount the possibility that there was some kind of trap ahead.

"Not bad, recruit." The voice interrupted his thoughts. Wesker recognised it instantly as the man who'd spoken to him on the phone.

**Thanks Taff for betaing, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or faved. It's great to have got to ten chapters and I have much more planned for this story. As always, concrit or any other kind of feedback is welcome.**


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